


Of Cars and Bars

by PlanetsBendBetweenUs



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Fluff, Humor, Rock Stars, Smut, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetsBendBetweenUs/pseuds/PlanetsBendBetweenUs
Summary: AU. Emma, Mary Margaret and Ruby go on a road trip. - A tribute to song fics





	1. Shut Up and Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't decided yet whether this one is worth turning into a longer multi-chapter fic. Let me know what you think!

“I told you we should have left earlier.”

Emma sighed, putting the car in park as she looked on at the bumper to bumper traffic that stretched out for miles ahead of her.

“Yes, Mary Margret, I know. But, like I said, I couldn’t get out of work this morning.”

“You’re self-employed.”

Okay, so that was technically true but that didn’t mean she could control when her perps were going to come out of hiding. And when she got the tip that the latest jackass was meeting his ex-partner for breakfast at the local pub… well she couldn’t NOT go after him.

There was not point explaining all this again. Emma let her head fall back against the headrest. Well they wouldn’t be moving for a while, she decided, turning off the engine, might as well save on some gas.

“Cool it, you two,” came Ruby’s voice from the backseat. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to your little sibling rivalry for the next five hours. I could have stayed in Storybrooke for that! This is supposed to be fun.” Yep, nothing as fun as a five hour road trip to New York stuck in crappy rush hour traffic.

“She’s right, Emma, I’m sorry. You know how I get in cars…” That was for damn sure. As sweet and kind as Mary Margaret was, she had one hell of a road-rage problem. There was a reason Emma volunteered to drive, but now her little yellow bug was feeling more cramped than ever.

“That’s the spirit!” Ruby cheered behind them. She nudged Emma on the shoulder. “Come on! It’s a girls’ weekend! Drinking, dancing, random hookups with inappropriate guys! Cheer up!” Emma rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. She _was_ looking forward to some time away from chasing deadbeats around the city. And she had missed her sister and her best friend since she’d moved to Boston last year for work. It may have only been an hour away but she rarely found the time to head home to visit lately. Life kept getting in the way. That’s what she told herself anyway.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry too.” She reached over and squeezed Mary Margaret’s hand. “This _will_ be fun. I mean… if we ever move again.” A collective sigh filled the car.

“Maybe we should turn the radio on?” Mary Margaret suggested. “That could help pass the time.”

“I want to know what he’s listening to!” Ruby laughed.

“What? Who?” Emma frowned, looking at her friend in the rear-view mirror.

“Him!” Ruby pointed out Emma’s window and the three turned to find a black van had pulled up beside them. There were four guys sitting in it. A handsome blonde in a plaid shirt, and a scruffy looking brunette with curly hair sat in the back, watching the driver and the passenger’s interaction. The driver, a man with gorgeous blue eyes and a mass of curly dark hair was shouting at the other man who was… well if Emma was being honest, probably the hottest guy she’d ever seen. He had the same blue eyes as the driver but his hair was straighter, wild and messy, sticking up in every direction, his fantastic jawline was covered by a few day’s shadow. Damn, Emma had a weakness for a good jawline.

Said passenger, however, was currently dancing his heart out in the front seat of the car, singing at the top of his lungs to a song they couldn’t hear. The driver looked furious, but Mr. Jawline kept up his spirited dance, smacking the driver’s hand away whenever he tried to touch the radio dial. Emma, Ruby and Mary Margaret couldn’t help themselves from laughing at his exuberance.

“Wait, hold on!” Ruby unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward, turning on the radio. She shifted through the stations, watching him for a second before changing it again until finally, she stopped, finding the song that matched his dancing.

_Oh don’t you dare look back_

_Just keep your eyes on me_

_I said you’re holding back_

_She said shut up and dance with me!_

“Oh I love this song!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Emma laughed, the three of them singing along. She had to admit it was catchy and watching the show to her left, well that was just a bonus.

Then Ruby got an idea. “Put your window down!”

“What? Why?”

“Oh just do it!”

Emma conceded, cranking the manual lever. Ruby turned the volume up higher, singing at the top of her lungs, signaling for the others to follow her lead. Her plan obviously worked as all four heads in the van eventually turned to face them, the music carrying on into their car.

The guys in the back seat cracked up and started cheering while the driver just looked embarrassed. But Mr. Jawline… oh, he definitely liked an audience. He rolled down his window, the music from his car joining theirs and turned so he was facing them as he continued his animated dancing. Geez, he was _really_ into this song.

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as he locked eyes with her, a smile spreading across his face the like of which she’d never seen before. It was mischievous, and a little bit dangerous, but somehow, it made his whole face look youthful and sincere. She could feel her cheeks heating as he continued, singing _to_ _her_ now. _Only_ to her. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, trying to pretend she was focusing on the road ahead of her but she couldn’t stop her eyes drifting back over to watch him. And there he was, every time, still staring right at her, his grin growing each time she looked back.

Finally, she couldn’t help it and she returned his smile mirthfully and rolled her eyes. She gripped the steering wheel dramatically as she threw her head back and belted out the last chorus with everything she had. The smile that broke across his face was definitely worth it. She held his gaze, breathing ragged, as the song slowly faded out, both of them still smiling at each other like idiots.

A horn honked loudly behind her. Emma jumped, scrambling to turn her car back on when she saw that the lane had cleared up in front of her. She stomped on the gas, nearly stalling the car as she drove away, leaving the boys, and Mr. Jawline behind.

“Emma!” Ruby shouted at her.

“What?” Emma answered, actively avoiding looking in her rear-view. 

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! You know exactly what! You and that guy… you were totally into him!”

“No I wasn’t!” Oops, she might answered that way too quickly.

“I’m gonna have to side with Ruby on this one.” Mary Margaret added. “Emma, the way he was looking at you. I’ve only ever seen it in movies… it was…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma cut her off. He’s gone now. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again. Besides, it was just some guy.”

“Emma…” her sister pressed.

“Guys, really. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it matters!” Ruby argued. “Emma you haven’t been into someone since… well, you know. And that guy – OH MY GOD!”

Emma nearly lost control of the car at her friend’s outburst.

“Jesus, Ruby! Are you trying to kill us?”

“Emma! Look!” Ruby was pointing out the passenger side window this time, her other hand covering her mouth.

Turning to look out the window, Emma felt her heart jump into her throat as she saw the black van driving alongside them. They were driving slower, to match the speed of the lane the yellow bug was stuck in. Cars started honking at the van, people shouting at them to speed up and take advantage of the empty road but they didn’t move.

The driver looked beyond stressed out.

“What the hell are they doing?” Emma shouted, looking back and forth between the van and the road.

The driver frowned, trying to see the road, as Mr. Jawline reached across him. He caught her eye and held her gaze for a moment before smacking a piece of paper against the window. A phone number and a name were scrawled across it in sharpie: Killian Jones. Emma stared at him, shocked by both his determination and his recklessness. The idiot was going to get himself killed!

Mary Margaret whirled around in her seat. “Oh, my God! Emma!”

“I’m taking down his number for you!” Ruby announced, typing it into her phone.

“There’s no point, Ruby.”

“Oh, live a little! It’s not gonna kill you to call the guy!”

She gave the scruffy guy in the back a thumbs up and he patted the driver on the shoulder and the van finally pulled ahead. Several cars followed along after it, riding its ass.

“Need I remind you that we’re going to New York?” Emma pointed out.

“For exactly this reason!” Ruby countered. “And okay, so you don’t call him this weekend. Then you call him when we get home. He probably lives near Boston since we’re only about 20 minutes out and –”

“And by then he’ll have found someone else to keep him busy for the night,” Emma finished.

“Emma…” Mary Margaret said. She could feel the pity in her voice.

“Can we please just drop it, guys? I’m not gonna call him okay.”

Ruby opened her mouth to say something but Mary Margaret shot her a look, shaking her head sadly. Ruby grumbled but kept quiet.

The rest of the way up, they talked about everything but the abrupt musical performance. Ruby had never been to New York so she listed off all of the things she wanted to do… most of which were bars she wanted to hit up. So, when they finally arrived at their hotel, they agreed to let Ruby decide where they would go on their first night.

“Emma! You are _not_ wearing a sweater out to clubr, I don’t care how ironic you think you’re being!”

“What? I’m comfy. I want to be comfy. Besides I didn’t bring any ‘clubbing’ clothes.” Ruby looked as though she wanted to smack her.

“To New York. You didn’t bring any clubbing clothes to New York? What did you think we’d be doing?” Ruby exclaimed.

“I dunno, seeing the sights? Maybe going to a pub for a drink? I—” Ruby held up a hand.

“No, I can’t even listen to this. Okay, you’ll just have to borrow something of mine.”

“Ruby…”

“Emma! Even Mary Margaret got dressed up for the occasion!” she pointed to her friend who was wearing a cute, short dress under a denim jacket.  Emma rolled her eyes and groaned. She’d had this fight with Ruby before. She didn’t know why she was bothering.

“Fine. But no dresses.” Ruby stared her down for a moment but finally agreed to the compromise.

“Deal. Besides you look hot in those jeans anyway. Now take off that damn monstrosity before I’m tempted to burn it.”

“Hey!” Emma shouted indignantly as Ruby headed to her suitcase and started rifling through it.

“Now!”

Emma said something rude under her breath and pulled off her knit, fisherman’s sweater.

“Aha! This!” Ruby emerged from her enormous case, handing her what looked like a perfectly innocent, lose-fitted, white t-shirt…. Until she turned it around.

“Ruby! I can’t wear this!” Emma protested.

“Why not?”

“Um, because it doesn’t have a back?” She held it out in front of her. Instead of a back, there was a deep V that ended in a knot at the small of her back.

“So what? Try it on.”

Emma gaped. The way she’d said it left no room for argument. Grudgingly, she shrugged the shirt on and turned to look in the mirror. While it looked perfectly lovely from the front, her entire back was exposed.

“No way. I can’t even wear a bra with it!”

“No, you can’t,” Ruby agreed before unhooking the clasp of Emma’s strapless bra. She stared at Ruby in horror as it fell to the ground. “Much better,” Ruby smiled. “You look hot, Em!”

“She’s right, you know. You do look amazing,” Mary Margret chimed in.

Emma glared at both her friends. She was never going to win this one.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’m wearing a coat,” she declared, grabbing her camel-coloured leather jacket off the bed and throwing it on.

“Spoilsport,” Ruby said, sticking out her tongue.

“Yeah, yeah. Are we ready?”

Ruby nodded and the three girls headed out on the town. Ruby had heard about a bar that was supposed to be the new up and coming place and was dying to check it out so off they headed. Emma didn’t mind. Anything would be a nice change from Granny’s which is where they had spent most of their early adult life going out.

They were a few blocks away when Ruby stopped them suddenly.

“Wait,” she ordered. “Let’s go here instead.”

“What?” Mary Margret asked. “But you were so excited to go to ‘Bourbon’! Why the change of heart?”

Ruby shrugged, looking up at the big neon sign that read ‘The Rabbit Hole’. The place looked pretty run-down, a definite dive bar. It was the kind of place Emma assumed she would usually find her perps in.

“I don’t know,” Ruby answered cryptically. “Just a feeling. Besides, you guys said tonight was my choice…”

Emma sighed, hustling them forward. “All right. Let’s go, then.”

The bar was surprisingly nice inside. The walls were exposed brick, a few structural pillars spread about the room, and the tables and counters were made of what looked like solid oak. There were a few pool tables in the far corner but most of the patrons were crowded around the stage where a live band was playing. Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen the lead singer before but she couldn’t place him…

“I see a table!” Mary Margaret shouted over the music pointing to a corner farther away from the stage.

“Nice one! You guys go grab it quick! I’ll get the first round,” Ruby offered and the sisters pushed their way over.

They managed – by some miracle – to snag the table before anyone else did and Emma grabbed the seat with her back to the stage. She’d gotten in the habit of positioning herself so she could watch the door and it was a hard habit to break.

God, it was crowded in here. She was dying of heat in her leather jacket but she was too nervous to take it off and be so… exposed.

“Oh, come on. It won’t kill you,” Mary Margaret told her, taking off her own jacket.

Emma hesitated but she felt like she would start sweating at any moment so she finally relented, hanging her own jacket on the back of her chair.

Ruby joined them quickly, three pints in hand. She’d never had much trouble getting fast service at bars.

“So I talked to the bartender. He says it’s so busy tonight because of this band that’s playing. Apparently they’re some big deal and about to hit their big break so we’ve got the hipster crowd who wants to say they knew them first,” she laughed.

“I can’t see them, but they sound good!” Mary Margaret commented. “What are they called?”

“Prince of Pan, I think. Hey, let’s have a toast! To girls weekend. It’s been way too long and I miss you ladies,” Ruby said, her tone bittersweet.

Emma and Mary Margaret smiled at her sadly.

“It has,” Emma agreed. “To the next one being much sooner!”

“Here, here!” Mary Margret agreed and they all clinked their glasses.

“All right, remember the rules, Ladies. No boys in the hotel room!” Ruby warned. “You go back to their place.”

Mary Margret nearly chocked on her beer as Emma chuckled into hers.

There was a sudden break in the music then, a voice addressing everyone. Whoever he was had a lovely British accent.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Thanks for coming out tonight!” The crowd cheered.

“Oh, I wish we could see them,” Mary Margret lamented.

“Now, normally, we don’t do covers, and I happen to hate this song in particular…” Someone else with a microphone cleared their throat impatiently. The speaker sighed. “But my little brother here is a romantic and he claims that this is in the pursuit of true love and well, what can I say? I guess being a hopeless romantic is a family trait. So please, forgive us for this next one…”

“What was that about –” Emma started, going to take another sip of her drink but she froze, glass halfway to her lips as she heard the familiar opening chords. No way. That wasn’t possible. It had to just be a coincidence.

_Oh don’t you dare look back_

_Just keep your eyes on me_

_I said you’re holding back_

_She said shut up and dance with me_

Emma, who had been staring pointedly at the table when a voice – a different one than the one that had been singing earlier – had started to sing, chanced a glance up at her friends who were staring at her with matching awestruck expressions. They shared a glance before scrambling up from their seats, dragging Emma with them so they could get a better look at the stage.

There he was. Front and center. Mr. Jawline… or Killian Jones, she guessed. He looked just as heart-stoppingly handsome as he had the last time she saw him. His hair looked like he’d tried to tame it but it had fallen victim to having his fingers run through it one too many times, pieces of his bangs falling into his eyes. His _gorgeous blue eyes_ which were now lined with black. It shouldn’t have been so sexy but it was; and paired with his black V-neck shirt that exposed just the tiniest, most tantalizing bit of chest hair… Emma felt a knot in her stomach tighten, her heart beating against her ribcage.

He was scanning the crowd as he sang into the mic, looking for something… and then he found it. His eyes met hers and that smile was back, lighting up his whole face as it stretched from ear to ear. It was just like in the cars – only with less dancing – his eyes never leaving hers as he sang the next bit. She felt like he was searching her, asking for something she didn’t know if she could give.

Emma’s heart was racing. She felt frozen in place, her mind urging her to run. Run far away like she always did. This kind of instant attraction was never a good thing but this… it felt like more than just attraction, and that was even more dangerous.

As if he could sense her retreating, he hopped off the stage. Oh god, he was coming towards her. The crowd parted for him like the red sea and Emma panicked. She searched for a way out, ready to take off but Ruby and Mary Margret held her fast.

“Just this once, Emma. Give him a chance,” her sister whispered in her ear. And then she was gone. She and everyone else around her as Killian approached her. He stopped, a few feet away, not pushing her, not forcing her into anything. The way he was looking at her, it was so… _hopeful_ , like she could break him with her decision. She could tell he wanted to come closer but he was waiting for some kind of sign.

Maybe Ruby and her sister were right. What could it hurt? It only had to be one night if that’s all she wanted. And she couldn’t pretend that being serenaded by a beautiful man with a voice to match wasn’t… flattering.

She looked up, just in time to see him do a little dance, reminiscent of his moves in the car. His eyebrow quirked up suggestively and Emma laughed a bit, brushing her hair behind her ear. His unsure look was replaced with a blinding smile as he closed the distance between them. Taking her hand, he placed it on his chest as he sang the next chorus.

Emma couldn’t stop smiling. She tried to hide her face behind her hand but he wouldn’t let her, trapping both her hands on his chest and following her gaze wherever it went. The musical interlude came up and Killian lowered the mic, speaking only to her.

“I need to know your name, love,” he begged. Of course he had to have a beautiful accent too.

“Emma,” she smiled, “Emma Swan.”

“What do you say, Swan? Just one dance?” There was that hopeful look again and Emma found herself nodding before she’d even had a chance to think about it.

“Okay.”

Killian beamed, lifting the mic, he turned back to the stage.

“Take it away, Liam!” he shouted and the lead singer picked up where he’d left off. The onlookers, deciding the dramatic display was over, crowded back around them, resuming their dancing.

Killian stepped forward, setting the mic down on a table next to the pillar that stood directly behind her, before pulling her close so that she was flush against his body. His breathing hitched and she shivered as his hand traced its way down her naked spine from her shoulder to the waistline of her jeans.  He started to move their bodies to the beat of the music, not leaving any space between them as Emma slid her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. She could feel every one of his solid muscles as they moved against her. Her hips were firmly pinned against his but she really couldn’t care less as her eyes lowered to look at his mouth which was so close she could feel his breath, ragged and mixing with her own.

“It’s about bloody time,” he said, barely above a whisper as his hands trailed the expanse of her back. She looked up to find his eyes dark and heavy lidded.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma ordered. He smirked slightly.

“Those aren’t the lyrics, lo –”

Emma pulled him down, cutting off his snarky remark with a demanding kiss. It only took him a second to respond, his lips parting as he pulled her bottom lip between his own, sucking it gently as he breathed her in. Emma moaned under his ministrations. Jesus, the man could kiss! He took advantage of her moan to slide his tongue into her mouth, gliding it slowly along hers before returning his attention to her bottom lip. She pressed herself even tighter against him, moulding her body to his. He pulled back with a shaky gasp but Emma followed. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, she caught his bottom lip between hers and toyed with it the same way he had, before taking it between her teeth and pulling back slowly. It was his turn to moan as he pounced on her, one hand tightening on her lower back, the other fisting in the hair at the nape of her neck as he pushed her back against the pillar, his mouth devouring hers, hips grinding against her own.

He pulled back finally, resting his forehead against hers as their chests heaved together.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, voice raspy and wanting.

Emma fought to catch her breath. “Don’t you have a show to finish?”

Killian rolled his hips against hers, the tell-tale sign of his arousal brushing against her thigh and Emma whimpered softly at the feeling.  Killian chuckled. “Fuck the show.”

Emma threw her head back as he ducked to trail his lips along her jaw to the pulse point behind her ear. God, yes. Fuck the show. Fuck _her_. Please! She needed to get out of here and she didn’t care who was watching them.

“Bathroom?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and pulled her along the side of the bar, trying to stay out of sight of the other band members that were continuing the set as he led her backstage. He took her down a short hallway before stopping in front of a door with ‘dressing room’ marked on it.

Before he could open it, she turned him around and shoved him up against the wood, stepping between his legs and raising up on her toes so she could slant her mouth over his, finally running her hands through that gorgeous hair. He groaned deep in his throat as she yanked his head to the side so that she could mouth at his collar bone.

“I swear to God, Swan, if we don’t get inside right now, I’m going to have you right here in this hallway.”

 _Fuck_ that sounded hot in his accent. Trailed her lips up so that she could tongue at his earlobe.

“Then you better open the fucking door,” she warned him, dragging her teeth along the shell of his ear, “Because I’m not going to stop you.”

He let out a desperate sound, clawing frantically for the doorknob. “I think,” He gasped, “that we will require a bit more privacy for what I have in mind,” he finished, finally finding the knob and pushing the door open. The two stumbled in, slamming it shut behind them.

***

“Woah. Go, Emma,” Ruby said, thoroughly impressed. Mary Margret was still staring in shock at the pillar her sister had just been pressed up against.

“What are the chances? That we’d walk into the same bar he was playing in…” she mused. Ruby smirked.

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” she admitted smugly.

“What do you mean?” her friend asked, confused. Ruby’s smile turned mischievous.

“I saw their van parked out front.”


	2. Victims of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure Smut.

No sooner had they stumbled into the room than Killian had hoisted her up into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her back against the door. _Somehow_ , he managed to have the forethought to grope for the deadbolt and lock the door. Emma gasped at the feel of the cold wood against her naked back and the solid heat pressing between her thighs. He rolled his hips forward and up and Emma cried out as he hit _just_ the right spot.

“Fuck, Killian,” she breathed, “again.”

Killian smirked but didn’t make her ask again. He ground into her over and over, pressing against the seam of her jeans so that it rubbed her clit with every pass. Emma felt like sobbing. It shouldn’t feel this good with all of her clothes still on but she was pretty sure that if he kept this up he was going to make her cum before he even got in her pants.

“God, Emma, you’re stunning like this,” he told her, panting as he trailed a hand up from her thigh along the side of her body. He cupped her breast through her shirt, rolling his palm firmly over the tip and Emma moaned, her nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck.

“Yes, yes, oh god…” She should make him stop. Make this last. She wanted to come with him inside of her but it all just felt too good and –

“Oh!” his thumb found her nipple, rolling it, flicking it as his hips kept up their steady motion. Emma whimpered. She was so close, her hips moving in tandem with his. He moved his hand down to grip her hip, pulling her more tightly against his erection with every thrust.

“Killian, please… I – oh god, so close,” she was mumbling incoherently at this point be he still somehow knew exactly what she needed as he lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking at her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. Yes, that was it. Just one, two, three more thrusts and –

“Ah!” Her back bowed against him as the coil in her belly released and the waves of pleasure washed over her.

“That’s it, love,” he said as he continued to roll his hips gently against hers, sending little sparks up her spine with each thrust. “Ride it out. I’ve got you.” She let her forehead fall limply against his as she took a moment to catch her breath.

When he was sure she could stand, he lowered her legs slowly down to the ground, his hand coming up to brush the hair out of her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, tucking a piece behind her ear. She bit her lip shyly. She was used to being called hot or sexy but this whole ‘stunning’ and ‘beautiful’ thing was new to her and she wasn’t sure how to take it. He was looking at her with something in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing and she certainly wasn’t used to the way it was making her heart race in her chest.

She didn’t know how to handle this, what to say. So she kissed him. She kissed him hard and deep, a ‘forget your own name’ kind of kiss, and she could feel his need radiating off of him as he kissed her back with just as much vigor. She could also distinctly _not_ feel a specific aspect of his need as she noticed that he was purposefully keeping his hips away from hers. Well we can’t have that, she thought. She raised her hand the hem of his shirt, slipping it under to palm his chest, running her nails down his abs until she reached them hem of his pants.

“Emma,” he moaned, catching her hand. “You don’t have to –”

“Do you not want to?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“No, fuck I want to,” he told her, cradling her face between his hands as he bit his lip, trying to focus. “But you don’t have t --”

“Then shut up,” she told him, backing him towards the couch she’d glanced earlier, “and sit down.” She shoved him down and he landed with a thump. He was looking at her with nervous excitement and Emma loved it.

She stepped forward, standing between his knees and reaching down for the hem of her shirt. She pulled it over her head – a bit slower than she really needed to – and tossed it aside. The look of awe on his face as he looked at her half-naked body was definitely worth the slow strip. He sat up, his hands going to her waist as he trailed his fingers up her sides before cupping a breast in each hand.

“Fuck me,” he breathed. Emma laughed. She knew he hadn’t meant it like that but _still_.

“Well that’s what I’m trying to do…” she teased.

Killian growled, grabbing her around her waist and pulling her under him so that he was laying above her on the couch. She let out a tiny ‘oof’ as she landed but she was quickly cut off by his lips crashing down over hers. Again she was blown away by how good he was at it. She was already addicted to kissing this man. She didn’t care that she should be embarrassed about the sounds she was making. She could kiss him forever. Emma quickly buried that terrifying thought and focused on getting his shirt off. He wasn’t helping her though, refusing to leave her mouth so she could pull it over his head.

“Come on, Killian! I want to look at you,” she said, tearing her lips away from his. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fair’s fair.”

He chuckled, rising up to his knees, he yanked his shirt off and stood there awaiting her appraisal. Emma let her eyes trail over him, his broad shoulders, the hard planes of his chest and the hair that covered them, leading down over the defined muscles of his stomach before disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. Emma licked her bottom lip as arousal shot though her. The man was one hell of a specimen. He was smirking at her, seemingly waiting for her to say something but instead, she reached for his belt. His eyes darkened as she unbuckled it and began working on the button and fly of his jeans.

He stood so that he could push them to the ground and Emma was pleased to find out that he was neither a boxers nor a briefs kind of man. She rose up to join him, raking her eyes over him in his full glory. He watched her as she ran her fingers over the planes of his body, making sure to hit everywhere except the places he most wanted her.

“Swan,” he rasped when he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. She took pity on him, finally trailing her hand down to where he was standing thick and proud, wrapping her hand around his length, she swiped her thumb over the tip and his hand immediately reached for the waist of her jeans, twisting the material in his clenched fist. His breathing picked up, his body trembling as she slid her hand up and down, making sure to run her thumb along the seam on each pass over the head. He remained silent though and Emma took that as a challenge.

She released him, pressing her body against his, his member trapped firmly against the soft skin of her belly as she brought her lips to his neck. She ground her hips, lightly, barely noticeable as she trailed hot, open-mouth kisses down the length of his neck to his collar bone and finally to his sternum. He let out a small cry when she dragged her nails gently up his sides, scraping over his nipples. She continued the motion of her hips, trailing her lips back up to his as she kissed him slowly but deeply, her tongue exploring the cavern of his mouth and eliciting a small moan from the back of his throat, his hips pressing into her belly. A triumphant thrill went through her as she kissed him for a moment longer before pulling away. He tried to follow her but she stayed just out of reach. He finally tore his eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes. She looked up at him through her lashes as she ever so slowly slid down to her knees.

His breathing was ragged, he looked wrecked as he waited to see what she would do next. He couldn’t even bring himself to be a gentleman this time and tell her ‘she didn’t have to’ and Emma considered that another small victory.

She kissed his stomach, just below his belly button, letting his shaft rub against her cheek. His fists clenched at his sides. She trailed her hands along the inside of his thighs, fingers kneading gently up to the crease where they met his hips. As she slid her hands around to grip his ass – and what a nice ass it was – she looked up to meet his eye, bringing her mouth just above the tip, breathing hotly on it but not touching it. His face was one of such desperation that she nearly caved and gave the poor man what he wanted. But she was waiting for something.

“Please,” he begged. Ah, there it was. With that, she took him into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the tip before sucking gently on it. He cried out, his hands fisting in her hair as she slowly worked her way down the length of him, sucking firmly as she took more and more of him into her mouth, coming back up every now and then to run her tongue over his slit or circle it around the head. She could tell he was getting close. She pressed her tongue down on the underside of his shaft, closing her lips tightly around him as she lowered her head down over him.

“Oh, fuck, Emma! Yes. I’m gonna cum… Emma!” he warned, his fingers tightening in her hair but rather than pull back, she pressed forward, relaxing her throat as she took him deep and let him hit the back.

“ _Fuck_! He cursed, body tensing as he came down her throat. When he stopped shaking, Emma pulled back, placing a gentle kiss on the tip before smirking smugly up at him. He looked down at her brokenly before reaching down to pull her to her feet for a desperate kiss.

“Jesus, Swan,” he said when he pulled back. “Are you trying to kill me?” Emma grinned mirthfully.

“What’s the matter, Rockstar? Afraid you won’t be able to make the encore performance?” He narrowed his eyes at her, stalking forward a step so that he was looming over her.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that, love,” he said, walking her backwards until her ass hit the vanity that ran along the wall of mirrors. “What I _am_ worried about is the fact that you’re somehow still wearing jeans.” He ran his hand along the inside of the waistband, fingers dancing along her sensitive skin.

“Well, you gonna do something about that, or…” He cut her off, flicking his thumb over her nipple, making her gasp.

“You were saying?” he asked smugly before diving down and taking her nipple into his mouth. Emma let her head fall back against the mirrors with a soft thud and Killian looked up at her, raising a brow.

“What?” she asked, a little annoyed that he’d stopped. He rose back up and spun her around, pressing her back firmly against his chest, cradling her ass between his hips. He held one hand over her stomach to keep her still, the other trailed up to her breasts, running over the tip of each and then continuing up. He brushed her hair off one shoulder, lowering his lips to her neck as he trailed his fingers down her arm. He kissed where it met her shoulder, licking and sucking his way up to just behind her ear. He took the shell between his teeth, running his tongue over her earlobe and Emma shuddered.

“Watch,” he told her softly and Emma raised her eyes to the mirror. She met his gaze in the reflection and instantly felt the heat pooling between her legs. Dark-rimmed eyes were watching her intensely, his body standing tall and powerful behind her. She fought to keep her eyes open as he ran his tongue along the shell of her ear. Fuck, he was gonna ruin her.

His hand, which had been resting over her own, trailed its way back up to her breasts. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he ran his finger in a slow circle around her nipple before tweaking it between his thumb and finger. Her whole body jerked at the action and at the sight. He trailed his hand over and repeated the action on the other side. He continued his slow torment of her chest, flicking and stroking and pulling at the rosy buds until she thought she might come a second time with her pants still on.

Finally, his other hand moved, trailing, feather-like along the waistband of her jeans before abruptly dipping down into the front. He moaned as he ran his hand along her slit, inside her panties.

“So wet, love.” She let her head fall back against his shoulder as he stroked her, his finger barely brushing over her bundle of nerves with each passing. Emma felt like she was going to explode. His second hand left her breasts, deftly unbuttoning her jeans and sliding the zipper down. She whimpered when his hand left her to slide her pants and underwear down her legs. When it hit the floor, though, rather than return to her center, he cupped both her breasts, rolling his fingers firmly over her nipples and Emma cried out in pleasure and frustration.

“Please, Killian. I’m literally begging you. Touch me!” He groaned at her wanton demand, his hand finding her clit with impressive precision. She gasped, grabbing hold of his forearm for dear life as he circled the nub.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he said low in her ear, “I’d rather taste you.”

“Yes!” was all she could manage to say and it was all the encouragement he needed.

He spun her around and sat her up on the edge of the vanity, dropping to his knees and diving between her thighs without ceremony. Emma screamed, actually screamed, as he licked her from bottom to top and sucked her clit into his mouth. Her hand latched onto his hair, grinding against his face as he continued his relentless assault.

“Oh, yes, fuck, please, fuck, Killian, don’t stop. Oh my god please don’t stop.” He groaned against her, affected by her words as she continued to ride his face. She was so close she just needed…

“Yes!” she cried as he plunged two fingers into her, curling them as he pumped in and out. She could feel it, the tension coiling in her belly, so close to snapping… Killian dragged his teeth over her clit and she was gone. Her whole body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through her almost painfully.

She had barely caught her breath when he stood up, watching her with an intense desire she was sure was mirrored in her own despite the mind-blowing orgasm she’d just received.

“Now,” she told him, grabbing his hips and pulling him between her open thighs. He didn’t need to be told twice. Taking himself in hand he lined his shaft up with her entrance and thrust in, bottoming out.

“Swan. Jesus.” Emma felt so full. She squirmed, rocking her hips against him as he stayed stubbornly still.

“Move, Killian. Now,” she ordered.

“As you wish,” he conceded, pulling out slowly, dragging against her walls until he was nearly all the way out and then sliding back in just as painfully slow.

“Faster.” He smirked but did as he was told, thrusting in and out hard and deep.

“More.”

“More what? You feel so good, Emma,” he told her, his head falling forward against her chest as he continued to piston his hips into her. “What do you want?”

“You. Fuck. Please, harder, faster. I want to feel you tomorrow,” she told him and Killian lost any shred of control he had left. He snapped his hips up into hers hard and fast and dirty, the room filling with the sound of their hips snapping together, skin slapping against skin, and their breathy moans as they climbed higher and higher together. Killian shifted, wrapping one of her legs around his waist and Emma keened.

“There! Oh, right there!” She cried, her nails clawing at the slick skin of his back. “Don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“Fuck, Emma, please tell me you’re close,” he begged as his hips picked up speed.

“Almost. Almost there…” She cursed when he brought his thumb to her clit, pressing down. Emma threw her head back with a strangled cry as she came harder than she ever had before. Somehow though the haze she was aware of Killian cumming with a shout.

When she came to, her limbs were still trembling, wrapped tightly around him. He was breathing heavily, his head resting in the crook of her neck. His hand was rubbing her back soothingly.

“You all right, love?” He asked though he didn’t sound as though he was holding up too well himself. She nodded, still not able to speak just yet but somehow they managed to untangle themselves and walk to the couch. He lay down and she was too tired to protest when he pulled her into the circle of his arms to lie on his chest. She ran her fingers through the hair there.

“Aren’t you going to be in trouble for not finishing the set?” she asked.

“I think the band will be able to appreciate that something more pressing… came up.”  He raised an eyebrow and Emma laughed at his terrible joke.

“I hope so, because I’m not sure I could let you move even if I wanted to right now.”

Killian chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“Good.”

 

 


	3. Blame it on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, chapter 3. I didn’t intend to continue this story but here we are!
> 
> This story is dedicated to and betaed by the wonderful, lovely, patient @kmomof4 who’s love of this story is the reason this fic is being continued and who read countless chapter outlines. As always thank you for all your kind words and flailing <3
> 
> So without further ado...

_**Chapter 3 - Blame it on Me** _

_5 years later._  

           “Happy birthday, Snow!” Emma cheered, raising her shot glass and toasting it against her sister’s.

Mary Margaret groaned. “You know I hate that nickname,” she said.

“Well then you shouldn’t have cut your hair like a Disney princess,” Ruby cut in from the other side of the bartop.

The bar was busy tonight. Ruby hadn’t managed to get the night off of work, even to celebrate her best friend’s 28th birthday but that wasn’t stopping her from spending most of the night over with Emma and Mary Margaret, matching them shot for shot. Emma smiled, if anyone could work hammered it was Ruby.

“So,” Mary Margaret started, “How drunk are you, Emma?”

Emma threw back another shot. Ruby had insisted on tequila. She knew that was Emma’s most dangerous drink. A few more and she’d be dancing on a table. One more than that and she’d start the karaoke.

“Just past tipsy but not quite at ‘make a new best friend in the bathroom’ yet. Oh, wait,” Emma paused as the liquor burned down her throat and settled in her stomach. “Nevermind.” She laughed, feeling giddy, feeling good. It was so rare that she and her friends really got the chance to just go out and let loose. Her work kept her so busy. Every day she dealt with scumbags and the darker side of humanity. Sometimes it was nice to have a drink with her friends and remember that the world wasn’t so bad as bail bonds might lead her to believe.

Ruby and Mary Margaret exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

“So that means you’re just coming up on ‘drunk enough to perform’ right?” Ruby asked. Emma froze.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Emma!” Mary Margaret - who, at this point, was many free birthday drinks past ‘sleep with an ex’ drunk - whined. “It can be my birthday present!”

“No,” Emma said again. No way. She didn’t perform anymore. Not since - well, the point was she didn’t and she wasn’t going to start now.

“It’s open mic night,” Ruby piped up. “I already signed you up. You can even use a fake name if you want.”

“No. I don’t play anymore,” She said firmly.

“That’s bullshit,” Ruby countered. “You play at that sleazy bar outside of town on Tuesday nights.” Emma stared at her, gobsmacked. “Yeah,” the brunette smirked, “You didn’t think we knew about that, did you?”

No, she hadn’t. That was exactly why she performed out of town, on a night that nobody was around to hear her. Her shows at Joe’s were for her. Nobody else. Just something she did when she needed to shake off the week. It kept her sane. It wasn’t for anyone else.

“Please, Emma? Please, please, please? It’s all I want for my birthday. Please? For me?” Mary Margaret turned her big doe eyes on her and Emma groaned, letting her head fall onto her arms. Mary Margaret’s Disney eyes were a low blow.

“Fine,” she dragged out the syllable, defeated. “One song. That’s it. And I’m going to need another drink first.” She eyed Ruby. “On the house.”

Emma rolled her eyes as her friends high fived each other. She’d been played. But at least she was getting a free drink out of it. Ruby turned around to pour her a generous serving of whiskey.

“To give your voice that raspy edge,” she teased, sliding it across the bar.

Emma sneered at her before throwing the drink back. She stood, shaking her limbs out as the liquor burned through her veins. Heat and adrenaline coursed with every beat of her heart, a buzzing warmth rushing to her head. Yeah, she felt good.

“Alright, put your hands together for Emma Swan,” a voice called over the speakers. Wow they’d just timed this perfectly hadn’t they, she thought, letting herself have a moment to be annoyed. But the buzz was making its way through her body, into her chest, and Emma felt that thrill, so close to the one she used to get when she went up on stage. Before everything went to hell and she lost the joy of it - before him. It had been so long since she felt that way and she wanted to ride it out as long as she could.

She stepped up onto the stage to scattered applause and picked up the guitar that the bar provided. She lifted the strap over her head, breath shaky with that mix of fear and excitement that came with performing. She stood up to the mic, taking in the waiting faces in the bar. The silence was drawing out just a little too long, the patrons starting to look impatient.  _Come on, Emma, sing something._  For a second, she thought of walking right back off stage and going home to bed but then she looked at her friends, cheering her from their spot at the bar and she was able to swallow down the lump in her throat.

“Hi,” she said, her voice echoing through the quiet room. “I’m Emma Swan.” Ruby let out a ‘whoop’. “But you knew that already,” she continued awkwardly. “Anyway, this song is for Mary Margaret because it’s her birthday and she forced me up here and it’s her favorite.”

She fiddled with the guitar for a second, making sure the tune was okay and then she just let herself fall into it. Her fingers slid over the frets without thought. God, she missed this. The joy that came from creating music where there was nothing. The song wasn’t anything special. Upbeat, lighthearted, not really about much. The kind of song people danced to and sang along to. But it was hers. It was something that belonged only to her. It was one of the only things that still did and she owned it. On stage, she wasn’t Emma Swan: orphan, lost girl, screw up. She just  _was._  And it was amazing.

Cheers reached her from the audience, the bar-goers getting sucked into the music, dancing and drinking, women pulling their boyfriends up from their tables and up to the front of the stage. Feeding off the hype of the crowd, Emma turned it up - she could blame it on the liquor later but she knew that there was no high that could ever get her close to how she felt right now. On the last chorus, she let herself really get into it, belting it out and hamming it up and a roar echoed through the bar. Emma beamed and finished the song to thunderous applause - well, as thunderous as a bar on a Thursday night could get.

Hopping down from the stage, she made her way back to her friends, weaving through the wave of people who offered her a pat on the back or a compliment. Ruby stood at the bar, looking smug and holding out another drink. Emma was getting dangerously close to dancing on tables between Ruby pushing drinks and the rush of a good show. For a minute, she was seventeen again. Back when this was nearly her nightly routine - young, drunk, in love - with music and with -- Emma stopped that line of thought before it brought her high crashing down. No. She was done with that. She was over it.

“That was amazing! Thank you!” Mary Margaret squealed, wrapping her arms around her.

“You killed it,” Ruby added, still smug.

“You really did,” a voice said behind them. It was feminine and accented. Emma turned to see who had spoken.

“Didn’t I tell you she was good?” Another accented voice - male this time.

Two people had approached their spot at the bar - a tall, good-looking man with piercing blue eyes and a mop of dark, curly hair, and a small, beautiful brunette in sky-high heels. Emma didn’t know who either of them were but she did know that she didn’t like being talked about as if she wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry,” she started, rather curtly. “Who are you?”

The brunette’s eyes went wide in surprise and then in embarrassment. “Of course! I’m so sorry. My name is Belle French and this is Liam Jones. I’m a talent manager. I represent Liam’s band.”

“That’s nice,” Emma said flatly, not really interested in some two bit performer and his wannabe manager. Belle looked a little taken aback by her tone but then put on a smile that lit up her whole face.

“We actually wanted to talk to you about possibly signing on with us. The band is going on tour this summer and we would love to have you join as an opening act,” Belle rushed to explain. “Sorry this is all so informal but we leave next week so it’s getting down to the wire.”

The earnestness and kindness in her voice made Emma retract her claws a little.

“Thank you,” she said a tad more politely, “but I’m not interested.” She had no interest in spending the summer driving around in some guy’s cousin’s beat up old van with a bunch of sweaty dudes she’d never met. Maybe she would have liked the idea once upon a time, found it romantic, but not anymore. “Music’s not really my thing,” she added, hoping that would drive the point home.

“I beg to differ,” the Englishman piped up. Emma frowned at him. Who did this guy think he was?

“Differ all you want. It’s not happening.”

“Emma!” Ruby cut in, smacking her on the arm. “ _Do you know who this is_?”

Emma gave her a look.  “Liam Jones, apparently.”

“This is  _the_ Liam Jones, lead singer of Abandon Ship! You guys are fantastic,” she added for Liam’s sake. He blushed, like actually blushed - the tips of his ears turning red.

“You flatter me,” he said.

“Emma, they’ve had the number one song in the country for months! Their album is a best seller - they’re rivaling Adele for gods sake!” Emma stared at her blankly. She had no clue what Ruby was talking about. Her friend sighed. “They sing that song you like… what’s it called?”

“Oh yeah!” Mary Margaret piped up. Both of them, having clearly had too many drinks to remember the name, started a slurred rendition of a song Emma definitely had in her most played list on iTunes. Belle and Liam laughed goodnaturedly.

“You have to do it!” Mary Margaret insisted. “Emma, this is everything you ever wanted.”

Emma bristled. “No, it’s not.” Not anymore. “Look, congrats on your success,” she told Liam, “but being a rockstar isn’t my dream. I’ve got a job. I’ve got a life. And I’m happy with it.”

“But -” Ruby started.

“No,” Emma insisted for the millionth time. “No offence,” she told Belle, “but I don’t know you. And I’m flattered, really I am, but I have no intention of pursuing music as a career, okay?”

“Well forgive me for saying so but I think that would be a tragedy.” Emma really wasn’t digging Liam. He’d spoken to her twice and both times he was making assumptions about her. He didn’t know her.

“Why’s that?” she asked, honestly curious to know what this jerk’s answer was going to be.

“Because of what we just saw up there. You’re talented, Emma. More talented than most people could ever dream of being. But it’s more than that. There’s something about you, it draws people in. You saw how that crowd reacted to you. Do you think just anyone can do that? Elicit that kind of connection just by being up there?”

He finished his speech and Emma was at a loss for words. It should have sounded like a spiel - a slick line delivered by someone who wanted something from her - but there was something about Liam, an honesty - something honourable that spoke to her.

“That wasn’t anything,” she said weakly.

Liam shook his head. “If  _that_ wasn’t anything… then that just makes it all the more tragic.”

Emma held his gaze. Something, something she thought had died a long time ago flickered inside of her. It had been a long time since anyone had believed in her. And she realized, that’s what it was about Liam that made a part of her - a really small part - want to do this - want to try again. He believed in her.

When she didn’t answer, Liam gave it one last try. “Listen, the band is here. Would you be willing to meet them? If you hate us, then no love lost. But if not… then maybe, would you at least consider it?”

“They all came to hear you play,” Belle added. “Liam insisted.” She flashed him a smile that was was both knowing and affectionate.

Emma looked at her friends. Doubt, brought on by years of disappointment, held her back.

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret said kindly. “Just meet them?” Emma sighed. She was outnumbered.

“Fine,” she nodded and was met with four beaming smiles.

Before Emma could do anything about it, Belle had slipped her arm through her own and was leading her over to a table at the far end of the bar. Usually, Emma wouldn’t have been okay with strangers being so familiar but the small brunette reminded her of her sister - she had the same kindness and inherent earnestness - so she let herself be dragged through the crowd. She liked Belle, and she was pretty sure there was nothing she could do about it.

“Emma,” Liam said as they arrived at a table that overflowed with drinks and napkins that had been scribbled all over with sharpie, “Meet the guys.” He gestured at the two men sitting, arguing over one of the napkins, each trying to shove the other’s hand away and write something down. Their heads snapped up at the sound of Liam’s voice.

The first one, a scruffy looking man with flippy brown hair and a shy smile, stood up and held out his hand. “Graham. Bassist.” he said as Emma shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

Emma smiled back, finding his bashfulness boyish and a little bit charming. He seemed like the kind of guy she would have had a crush on in high school. “Thanks,” she said.

The second man stood up. “David,” he said, shaking her hand in turn, “drums.” Emma was surprised to find that he didn’t have an accent. In fact the way he spoke suggested he may have grown up not far from her in Boston. He had a friendly, all-american way about him and a smile that probably made old ladies blush.

“Hi,” she said. Shit, she was already warming up to these guys after having only just met them.

“Where’s my little brother?” Liam asked, sighing. The boys both held their hands up in a gesture that said ‘I don’t know - who ever knows?’ Liam sighed again.  “Of course.”

David’s smile faltered as he looked down to see Graham scribbling away quickly, hunched over as though desperate not to be seen.

“Hey!” he shouted, lunging for the napkin. Graham was quicker though, standing up in the booth and holding his prize out of reach. “Stop changing my lyrics!” David insisted, grabbing hold of his bandmate’s coat and trying to drag him back down.

“They’re rubbish lyrics!” Graham retorted, one hand shoving David’s face away as he climbed further and further up the back of the booth before finally falling off and landing with a thud on the floor.

David didn’t waste any time, hopping right over the booth after him. The two scuffled on the floor, each trying to -- well Emma wasn’t really sure anymore. She didn’t think either really cared about the napkin at this point - they just seemed to be enjoying their little wrestling match, both of them laughing as they gained and then lost the upper hand.

“ _Gentlemen,”_  Liam’s voice cut in and Emma turned to see him with his face in his hand, looking embarrassed. The guys stopped their fighting and Belle just looked at them with an affectionate smile. “I’m trying to convince Miss Swan that we are respectable, professional adults -- not bloody children.”

David stood up first, reaching down to help Graham up after him. “Sorry, Liam,” he said, reaching over and dusting some bar floor grime off the front of Graham’s jacket.

“Yes, sorry,” Graham added. “But his lyrics really were rubbish.”

David shoved Graham’s face and he turned to retaliate but Belle cut them off with a firm “ _Boys_ ,” and they stopped, abashed.

“Scary, isn’t she?” Graham stage whispered to Emma, earning him an honestly terrifying glare.

“It’s why I married her,” Liam grinned planting a kiss on Belle’s cheek. He turned to Emma. “I’d like to say that we’re usually much more refined but…” Liam shrugged at her.

Emma smiled. “It’s okay.” And it was. There was something really appealing about the way the four of them acted together. They were friends yes, that much was obvious, but it was more than that. The way they picked on each other and clearly cared so much about one another made them seem more like a family - with David and Graham as brothers - always at each other’s throats - and Liam as the begrudging father. Belle looked at all her boys with motherly affection.

Emma could appreciate that - she respected it - that idea that family could be more than blood. In truth, they reminded her of her own little patchwork family, the one she’d created with Ruby and Mary Margaret and Granny, who was back home in Storybrooke. There was something incredibly appealing about being invited into such an intimate, close-knit group. And a part of her really wanted it. Emma had craved family her whole life and while she was still sometimes weary of it, the child in her - the little ugly duckling she’d been - still hoped it would grow. Looking at the four of them now, Emma was sure of only one thing - she wanted to be a part of it.

“I’m in.”

Liam looked at her in obvious shock and disbelief, like he was sure that their antics had turned her off of them. “Really?”

Emma nodded. “Fuck it. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

“That’s fantastic!” Liam exclaimed. Belle clapped her hands together and bounced on her toes - the resemblance to Mary Margaret was uncanny. David and Graham came up and clapped her on the back.

“Welcome aboard,” David said.

“Was that a fucking pun?” Graham accused, referring to their band name.

“This is wonderful,” Belle chimed in. “Now I brought some contracts with me just in case you said yes - call it wishful thinking but --”

Emma didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. Her heart had started racing at the word ‘contracts’. The blood drained from her face, she felt cold. She’d only ever signed one contract before and that had been… she didn’t want to think about it. But she  _was_  thinking about it. She couldn’t stop. She was seventeen again and her breath stuck in her throat. This was a mistake she couldn’t --

“Ah, there he is!” Liam’s voice cut into her spiralling thoughts. “Late as ever, I see.”

“Well it wouldn’t be very rock and roll to show up on time would it, brother?” a voice answered. Emma knew that voice. She’d heard the accent before - the way it lilted when it was teasing, the way the ‘t’s ticked at the end of a word. She knew that voice. She had heard it - years ago - wrapped around her name, calling out in pleasure, biting out choked curses - she knew what it sounded like when it was wrecked and wanting.

She looked up. Shocked blue eyes stared back. No. Fucking. Way.

“Swan?”

Emma bolted.


	4. Wrecking Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never? 
> 
> I’m sorry I’m the slowest updater in the world. Blame teacher’s college and the bucketload of assignments they make me do!
> 
> Again, this fic is dedicated to my lovely beta @kmomof4 without whom this story never would have happened. You are simply the best.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to anyone still reading this story. Your comments and Kudos give me life.

Killian felt the blood leave his face. His heart pounded in his chest, in his throat. It was her. Right there, in the flesh. Emma Swan - like a bloody ghost come back from the dead, or a dream, he didn’t know, he couldn’t think straight. Her eyes met his, only for a fraction of a second, but it was like a punch to the gut and suddenly Killian was back in that bar, as if the past five years hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t… she was here.

_Five years earlier_

_Killian lay on the couch, his back sticking to the leather, his breathing still heavy and laboured, every muscle in his body screaming at him. His left arm was bent at an awkward angle and starting to go numb, but then he heard the soft sigh leave her lips as she rolled over to face him and suddenly none of it mattered. She propped her chin on his chest and gave him a slightly embarrassed smile._

_“Hi,” she said. He beamed, reaching to brush her mass of blonde hair that had fallen over her face. It was a complete mess, tangled and damp and completely his fault - he couldn’t muster any guilt._

_“Hi,” he answered her and she buried her nose in his chest, hiding her face._

_Jesus she was gorgeous. From the moment he saw her, frowning and glaring at the road, at the traffic that had wronged her, to the radiant smile she’d finally given him when she sang along to his stupid performance, she’d stirred something in him that he couldn’t shake, something that he hadn’t felt since… well it had been a long time._

_When he lost her to the sea of cars that spread out ahead of them he felt it like a physical ache. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t know her, but that didn’t make it any less real. Liam must have seen it in his face, or heard it in what he was sure was the desperation in his voice because there was no other reason his clean cut brother would have violated as many traffic laws as he did trying to catch up to that obnoxiously yellow bug. And then he’d lost her again. He’d tried, he’d given her a way to contact him but it was completely up to her now and if she decided she didn’t want him… he needed a drink._

_Even now his throat clenched at how close he’d come. He’d been planning on drowning his sorrows as soon as the set was over. He could see Liam watching him. He’d been watching him since they got out of the car earlier that evening. It was an intent kind of watching, one he was familiar with and he hated it. He needed a drink. And then she walked in. Of all the gin joints…_

_And now here she was, wrapped in his arms and Killian was going to make damn sure that she didn’t disappear again. His hand was still tangled in her hair, curling around the ends, brushing delicately through the strands. Eventually she relaxed and leaned her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers coming up to draw patterns through the hair on his chest. The world could end in this moment and Killian wouldn’t even care. He didn’t ever want to move._

_Emma sighed. “I should go.”_

_Killian craned his head to look at her, heart jumping in his chest and his arm tightened slightly around her of its own accord. “Go? Go where?”_

_She laughed at his offended tone, wiggling her way out of his arms until she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her back bare and open to him. He felt a tightening low in his belly again - far earlier than should have been possible really._

_“Back to my friends,” she threw over her shoulder. “Before the rest of the band gets here and gets a show. The music’s stopped,” she informed him, reaching for her shirt. Killian hadn’t noticed, he’d been too busy brushing her hair over her shoulder so that he could trace the long, graceful line of her spine. He smirked a bit when he felt her tremble slightly under his hand._

_“We locked the door,” he reminded her, fingers curling around from her back to her side, up and across to her stomach as he raised himself up so that he could press his chest to her back, his chin resting on her shoulder as he let his lips tease the shell of her ear. She let out a small whine and he grinned in victory, one hand coming up to palm a breast while the other pulled her tighter against his already growing erection. His lips attacked her neck and she let out a gasp, head falling back as he licked and sucked over the place where her neck met her shoulder._

_She turned with a groan that was both desperate and annoyed and pulled his mouth to hers in a deep, hungry kiss. Killian smiled into it, hands continuing to roam as he let himself be kissed by her. He could spend hours kissing her - days. He’d only just nearly managed to get them horizontal again when she pulled back, standing and stepping away from him._

_“No,” she said, he voice breathy and uneven. She narrowed her eyes at him accusingly. “You’re dangerous.” Killian bit his lip to try and fight his self-satisfied smile. He failed. “I need to get back to my friends or I’ll never hear the end of it from Ruby.” The mention of her friend’s name seemed to set her resolve and she started picking her clothes up from where they’d ended up spread about the room._

_Killian sighed, defeated and stood to pull on his boxers and help her find her things. He located her jacket which had somehow ended up behind the mini fridge and held it out for her. Already fully dressed - he took a moment to be slightly impressed at her speed - she turned and smiled at the proffered jacket._

_“Thanks,” she breathed, grabbing hold of it, but he didn’t let go. He used her grip on it to pull her closer and she let herself be pulled. Killian was pretty sure Emma Swan didn’t do anything she didn’t want to. She rolled her eyes at him and he gave her a cheeky smile as he closed the distance, stepping forward until they were nearly chest to chest._

_“Meet me tomorrow,” he asked, begged, he didn’t care. She paused and for the time it took her to answer, Killian forgot how to breathe._

_“Where?” she finally asked and he felt the joy swell in his chest like a physical presence._

_“There’s a cafe down the street from here - a block east. Meet me there at noon?” he asked hopefully. She didn’t answer again. Instead she looked at him for a long moment, taking in every bit of his face and Killian didn’t know whether he wanted to hide the desperation on it or make sure she saw it. This woman had such an effect on him. He couldn’t think straight. It was way too soon. It didn’t make sense but he was powerless against it._

_Finally, she seemed to settle on his lips and she leaned in slowly, kissing him again. He’d kissed her a hundred times tonight and he still wasn’t prepared for his body’s reaction to her mouth on his. Heart fluttering, knees weak, an insatiable need for more, to keep kissing her, to kiss her for as long as she would let him._

_She ended the kiss as slowly as she’d initiated it and Killian stood for a moment with his eyes still closed, still tasting her, still feeling her. When he finally opened them, she was at the door. She cast him one last glance over her shoulder before slinking out into the hall. Killian stayed rooted to the spot, gazing like an idiot at the door she’d just disappeared through until his brother burst through, followed by Graham and David._

_“Oy, John,” he called. “What, did Yoko leave already?” His brother’s taunt snapped him out of of his reverie but it couldn’t shake his good mood._

_“Come now brother, we all know I’m McCartney,” he threw back._

_“McCartney would never leave his band up on stage like that!” Liam countered, but there was no heat in his words. He was looking intently at Killian again. But it was less concerned than it had been earlier, more intrigued, amused._

_“Aw let the guy be, Liam,” David said coming to his defence._

_“Yeah, look at the poor bastard. He’s in love!” Graham added. Killian threw a pillow at him but it was half-hearted._

_“Shut up and -” he started._

_“What? Dance?” David asked and he and Graham burst into hysterics. Even Liam cracked a smile._

_“I will murder all of you.” Killian vowed which only spurred their laughter._

_“Well,” Liam said when they had calmed a bit. Since you missed the second set… and you look so relaxed -” Graham guffawed. “I’m sure you won’t mind loading up the equipment for your poor, tired bandmates who had to pick up your slack.”_

_Killian rolled his eyes but didn’t put up a fight. Nothing could phase him. Not now. Later he’d take the piss out of his brother for trying to boss him around. And he’d get David and Graham back for their teasing. But right now? Right now everything was different. He’d met a girl - Emma - and she’d changed things. He could feel it, welling up in him, growing in him like the swell of strings and chords. He didn’t think he’d feel this way again. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman made him feel this way. That was a lie, he did remember. Clearly, and painfully. But that was the past. This was right now. And right now, Emma Swan had made his heart sing._

_“Oh and Killian!” Liam called as Killian made his way to the door. He turned around just in time to catch the jeans that were thrown at him. “Put on some bloody pants!”_

Present day

She ran. As quickly as she had come back into his life, she ran right out of it like a bat out of hell. Killian stood stunned, looking after the door as it slammed shut behind her. He could hear Liam talking. Something about how they came to hear Emma play and they wanted her to join their tour but he wasn’t listening. All he could focus on was the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the fact that every second that he stood there Emma Swan got further away from him. He was losing her. Again.

It took him all of five seconds before he took off after her. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what he planned to do. He just knew that he had to go after her. He’d figure it out once he got there. Figure out what the hell he even wanted from her.

He burst through the door and Emma, who had been standing beside it, let out a small squeak at the sound of it slamming against the wall. She jumped back a step but composed herself quickly when she saw him and stood with her shoulders squared, like she was ready for a fight. The two stood, staring at one another as the silence of the alleyway hung between them. Killian scrambled for something to say, something clever or cool or funny but all that ended up coming out was a quiet ‘hey.’

“Hey,” Emma answered after a moment, not relaxing her stance at all.

“I, um, I never thought I’d see you again,” he said, hating himself for how pathetic he sounded. Five years. He’d wondered if he’d ever see her again. If this thing between them would still be there, if it would still be as strong. It was. It nearly bowled him over with the strength of it just by being in proximity to her.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Emma answered and Killian’s heart sank a bit. The silence hung again and Emma shuffled from foot to foot, tucking and un-tucking her hair behind her ear. It was even longer than the last time they’d met. He longed to run his fingers through it. He cleared his throat. He could do this. He was an adult. He could have a bloody conversation with a woman.

“Liam says you’re a musician? He says you’re amazing.”

She scoffed. “I’m not. And your brother is overdramatic.” Killian laughed at that and he swore he saw an inkling of a smile tug at her lips.

“Aye, that he is. But he’s also rarely wrong, the prat.” She did smile at that. A small, embarrassed thing. “You didn’t tell me you played,” he added when she didn’t answer.

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, because we did so much talking that night,” she answered sarcastically. Killian smirked ruefully as flashes of that night played over in his mind. Skin and heat and gasps and cries, her voice wrapped around his name. He cleared his throat again to try distract from the memory.

“Liam also said something about you coming on tour?” he asked tentatively. He didn’t know what he wanted her answer to be. A part of him wanted her there - more than anything. Already just a few minutes in her presence - some of the longest, most uncomfortable minutes in his life - and he would do anything to make her stay, give her anything she wanted. But the other part of him, the one that yelled at him that this effect she had on him was strange and otherworldly and dangerous, feared what it would do to him if she did come and he lost her again. He didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Yeah, that’s obviously not happening,” she said and it was like a bucket of ice water had been dropped on him.

“Why not?” he asked - less cooly than he would have liked. She simply raised her eyebrow at him again. “Right,” he sighed. “Listen, Emma,” her eyes snapped to his at the use of her name. “That was… it was a very long time ago.” She eyed him warily but didn’t say anything so he chanced it and kept going. “And if you’re as good as Liam clearly thinks you are then you shouldn’t let some awkwardness between you and I stand in your way.” Her shoulders tensed uncomfortably. Killian sighed. He knew what she needed to hear. “Look, it didn’t mean anything anyway.” She visibly relaxed and it was a punch to the gut.

“I don’t know…” she started, still hesitant. He stepped forward and the took the fact that she didn’t flinch back as a good sign.

“Look, I haven’t heard you but if my brother - the bloody toughest critic in the whole bloody country thinks you’re so good he wants you on tour well, then you must be. We’re both adults,” he pointed out coming to lean beside her on the brick wall of the alley. “I’m sure we can both be professional, act like it never happened and just - go bring some fucking good music to the world.”

Emma looked at him and he hoped that she saw the sincerity he felt. He may have lied about what it meant to him but he was serious about what he said about Liam’s taste and his ability to act professional. If she didn’t want him then he wouldn’t force his feelings on her. He would just have to focus on making music - that was what was most important at this point in his life anyway. She still looked a bit uncertain but he knew he was winning her over.

“Besides,” he added. “My brother is a stubborn arse so if he wants you on tour it’s going to happen.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. There she was.

“Oh yeah? How’s that?” she challenged. He smiled.

“Have you met his lovely wife?” Her shoulders sagged and he chuckled. “Ah yes, I see you have. I’m sure you’ve already found yourself going along with something or other without any memory of agreeing to it.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered. Then she took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked, excited.

“Yeah. You’re right. It was a one time thing and it was five years ago. If you can be professional then so can I.”

“Wonderful,” he told her.

“But I have some conditions.”

***

“I’m sorry, what?” Liam asked, slightly put out.

“You heard me. I’m not signing a contract. It’s nothing personal, Belle, I’m sure you’re a wonderful manager but I want to keep my independence.” Liam opened his mouth to argue but Emma gave him a look. “It’s non-negotiable. I will come on tour, you have my word that I’ll see it through to the end but that’s all I can give you.”

Killian was enjoying this way more than he should have been but there was something inherently amusing about watching his brother be put in his place by the 5 foot nothing woman in front of him. She could give Belle a run for her money and as he watched Emma hold her own and make demands of five people who were offering her something he couldn’t help but wonder if a love of music wasn’t the only thing she and his brother had in common. She was a presence, a force to be reckoned with and Killian began to worry about his ability to keep things professional after all.

“Fine,” his brother let out through gritted teeth. Killian smiled. “What else?”

“Mary Margaret and Ruby come with me.” Killian wasn’t sure but he thought he saw David - who had been casting glances at the tiny brunette since they’d come back inside to find them all congregating around the table - perk up a bit at this new condition.

Liam sighed. “We can’t do that -” Emma started to interrupt but Belle jumped in.

“What he means,” she interjected. “Is that we can’t just have them tag along. Everyone involved in the tour has to be contributing somehow.”

“We’re her band,” Ruby piped up behind her, stepping forward to wrap an arm around Emma’s shoulders. Killian had to hide his smile behind his fist at his brother’s exasperated look.

“Come again?”

“We’re her band,” Ruby repeated slower and Graham giggled behind Liam. Ruby threw him a wolfish grin and he shut right up, face beet red. “We’ve played together since we were 15,” she continued. One look at Emma told him this wasn’t entirely true. “I play the violin and Mary Margaret is a drummer.”

“Why weren’t you up there tonight?” Liam challenged. Ruby didn’t even flinch.

“I’m working. And the birthday girl here can barely stand let alone hold her drumsticks.”

“Hey!” Mary Margaret protested, head snapping up from where it had been resting on her arm.

“We can’t have you signing a contract drunk,” Liam pointed out.

“We’re not signing a contract,” Emma reminded him. “It’s a verbal agreement. And since you’ve mentioned that this is a bit last minute on your part, it almost feels like we’d be doing you a favour, saving you all that timely paperwork.” She raised her eyebrow at Liam much the same way she had at him earlier and this time he couldn’t hide his shit-eating grin when he saw Liam’s shoulders sag.

“I like her,” he heard David say to Graham. Belle put a comforting hand on Liam’s shoulder but shot Emma a conspiratorial look - she was impressed.

“Alright. Anything else?” Liam asked, defeated. Bloody hell. He’d never seen anyone besides Belle take down his stubborn arse of a big brother so tactfully. She would definitely be interesting to have on tour.

“One.” She waited until Liam was looking at her again before continuing. “Did you know who I was when you asked me to join you?”

Liam looked at her for a long while, sizing her up. He’d seen Liam give people this look before. It was intimidating, like you were being weighed for worth and many people shrunk under it. Emma didn’t flinch.

“Yes.” Emma’s back straightened and he thought she would bolt again. “But not until tonight when I spoke to you. I’d already made up my mind by then. I knew I wanted you to open for us when I heard you playing in that dingy bar on Tuesday night.” There was a moment, Emma looked surprised for a second and then something passed between them - an understanding, a respect. Killian could feel it like a palpable thing in the air. Liam continued. “I didn’t choose you because of who you are. I chose you because of how you play.”

The two had a stare off, each giving as good as they got. Bloody hell, Killian thought, he was basically going on tour with two Liams wasn’t he? After a long moment where nobody said anything - even the general chatter of the bar itself seemed to die down as these two forces of nature stood off - Emma extended her hand.

“You’ve got a deal,” she said and she and Liam shook. There was a shared cheer that passed through his friends and hers - an excitement at the new prospects, an amusement at the two butting heads, a slight intoxication. Killian was feeling it too. Then Emma turned to him and flashed him a smile that knocked the wind out of him, proud, excited, exhilarated. 

_Oh bugger. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?_

 


	5. This Isn't Everything You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm as always so sorry about how long it's been since my last update. This chapter is twice as long as usual to try make up for it!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos -- they really keep me writing and mean the world. 
> 
> Huge thank you to my lovely beta kmomof4 for always talking the time to read and make this work the best version of itself! As always, this story is dedicated to and wouldn't exist without you!

_What the hell had she just gotten herself into?_ Emma stared at the empty suitcase in front of her. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This was a terrible idea_. They were leaving tomorrow. They were leaving tomorrow and Emma hadn’t even started packing. That was a lie. She _had_ started packing. She’d started packing sixteen times in the last week. One time she’d actually finished before she convinced herself she wasn’t going to go and emptied everything out of the case again.

 _Shit._ What was she doing? Why had she thought this was a good idea? She wasn’t a musician. She was a bail-bonds-person. She’d given up on her rockstar dreams. They’d been childish anyway. Silly fantasies of a seventeen year old girl who had no clue what the real world was like. They hadn’t even been _her_ dreams anyway. No, that was another lie. One she’d made herself believe so that it hurt less when she looked back on everything that happened. That it hadn’t been her dream but someone else’s and she’d just adopted it because she wanted them. Wanted him. But it wasn’t true. She’d wanted it. Wanted the music and the stage and the crowd singing along - that feeling that swelled from your chest to your gut to your limbs and your head until you felt dizzy. She loved it. She’d lived for it. She’d missed it. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until Ruby and Mary Margaret had shoved her up on that stage and started this whole rollercoaster of old wounds and new hopes she’d been living every day since. She missed it. She wanted it. And now she had it back. A chance at it anyway.

Emma stood and yanked open her closet door. She looked at the rows of jeans and leather jackets and the odd dress. _What the hell did someone pack on a cross-country tour?_ She’d hardly ever been outside of Boston except for the occasional trip to New York and those years she lived in Storybrooke. What were summers like in California? In Texas? Should she even bring her jackets?  

She let her fingers trail along the soft fabric before letting out a frustrated huff and gathered all the clothes hanging on the rod in one armfull, chucking them into her suitcase. There. She’d just bring everything. Perfect.

She looked at her overflowing suitcase. _Crap._ Not perfect. This was stupid. Why was she doing this? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t just drop her whole life and go out on the road. She was going to call them right now and tell them she wasn’t coming. They’d have to find a new opening act. Someone who had more interest. _More backbone, you mean_. Emma told the annoying voice in her head to shut up and pulled out her phone.

 _Damnit._ She didn’t have his number. She had Belle’s of course. Ever sensible Belle had had the forethought to exchange numbers should they need to communicate anything about the tour - _Like that you’re flaking_ \- the annoying voice piped up again. She could call Belle and she just knew that Belle would be understanding, that she would be kind about it all. But she’d never gotten his number - not even all those years ago when he’d slapped it on the window of a speeding car to get her attention.

She didn’t know why she felt like she should tell him - tell him _first_ anyway. But something deep down just knew that he would blame himself for it, that he would feel guilty; and for some reason that she neither wanted or was able to explore, she just didn’t want to do that to him.

She let out another frustrated groan before throwing her phone onto the bed. She thought of the bottle of rum in her liquor cabinet. Maybe she could just get nice and sloshed tonight and wake up tomorrow and decide then. She didn’t need to pack. She could get new stuff on the road. Or wear the same outfit every day. That could be a thing. Musicians were allowed to be eccentric. She didn’t know what she wanted to do but she did know that she really wished she had written down his goddamn number five years ago.

As she turned to leave her hateful suitcase for the loyal bottle that sat in the top shelf above the fridge, she caught a glimpse of the shoebox that lay in the bottom of her now empty closet. It was old and banged up and Emma found herself walking over and picking it up slowly, not caring about the layer of dust that covered the surface. She hadn’t touched it since she’d moved in almost six years ago - not even when she’d been at her weakest - not even after she’d tried things with Walsh and that shit had hit the proverbial fan.

She picked it up now though. Whether to convince herself that she should go or that she should run she didn’t know, but she opened it without thinking. The familiar objects lay in the bottom of the box, feeling more foreign each time she looked at them. Relics of a past life: A mood ring, an old pair of glasses, an old photo of her wearing those glasses and looking at _him_. Looking at him as though he hung the fucking stars - and for a while she’d really thought he had.

She almost shut the box then, deciding that she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go. But then there was the notebook. Boring and yellow with a spiral spine. The back cover was missing and the front had coffee stains on it. Emma picked it up, gingerly touching the bent metal coil, the rest of the box forgotten.

She didn’t think she could open it. She knew what was inside. A part of her was trapped inside those pages - a piece of her soul - like a goddamn horcrux, poisoning her even now to look at it but tempting her all the same.

She walked to the kitchen, notebook in hand, staring at it as she reached blindly for the liquor cupboard door, pulling out the bottle but leaving it sealed. Turning even to the first page would just bring everything back. All the pain and the betrayal and the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness and of being… alone. That’s what was in those pages. All the bad stuff she’d locked away and replaced with an armor nobody had a chance in hell of getting through. But it might also bring something else back. That rush, that joy, that innocence and sense of having an honest-to-god place in the world. She wasn’t sure if one was worth the other. She opened it. Opened it to the last page. To that one piece that had never been finished - that piece she hadn’t given him.

The doorbell buzzed and Emma jumped, dropping the notebook on the kitchen table. For a moment - a crazy, irrational moment - she thought it might be him - as if he’d known she had picked up the book and was here to collect the last bit of her he hadn’t taken. Her heart raced in her chest. No. it wouldn’t be him. It had been over ten years.

Her hand rose up to clutch at the swan pendant that hung around her neck but her fingers only met skin. Emma looked around. Damn. When had she lost it? It had to be somewhere around here. With her luck it had fallen off into the bottom of her suitcase. The clasp had always been finicky. She’d never bothered to fix it because that would mean taking it off willingly - not because it slipped off her neck in the shower or between the cushions when she fell asleep on the couch. She hated it so much. It was an ugly, tainted piece of junk. But she kept it - always kept it - as a reminder.

The doorbell sounded again. Three impatient rings this time and Emma reluctanty headed to the hallway to buzz whoever it was up. Less than a minute later, Ruby let herself in with the key Emma had given her, followed closely by Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret held a clipboard in her hand. Ruby held a bottle of tequila.

“Surprise,” Ruby beamed.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked.

“We’re here to stop you from changing your mind and bailing on tomorrow,” Mary Margaret explained calmly and sweetly. But the look on her face spoke volumes of someone who was well aware of her years of emotional damage and habit for running away.

“Mary Margaret is going to pack for you. She already has a list of what to bring and she’ll make sure you look fantastic. Besides we all know you haven’t even started.”

“I’ve started!” she insisted, casting a glance down the hall to her room where the suitcase still sat open with her entire wardrobe carelessly thrown in. There was no point lying to them. Of course they knew she hadn’t. “With tequila? How’s that going to help?”

“It’s not,” Ruby answered. “Mary Margaret is going to pack for you and we’re going to celebrate. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life and the rest of your life should always start with tequila and Just Dance!”

Emma sighed, really preferring to just drink by herself tonight, until she saw Ruby’s eyes dart to the notebook open on the table, widening and flickering quickly to Mary Margaret’s who had seen it too.

“Okay. Fine.” she said quickly, drawing her friends’ attention away from the book and to herself. “I’ll set up the Wii.”

Her friends beamed, the notebook all but forgotten as Ruby grabbed some shot glasses and led Emma to the living room while Mary Margaret made her way to the bedroom. As she turned on the console and watched Ruby pour three shots - one for Mary Margaret who would probably be joining them before the second round with her efficient packing skills - Emma wondered again what the hell she had gotten herself into. But as she clinked her glass against Ruby and Mary Margaret’s she could only think that she was damn glad she’d gotten into it with them.

 

***

            Killian checked the address on his phone for the thirteenth time since he had pulled up to the front door of her building. This was the place. This was where the elusive Emma Swan lived, ate and slept. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. It was just a regular building. Nothing special. For some reason he thought that it would be more distinctly… her. He walked up the steps to the front doors, checking the address one last time, and saw the yellow bug parked down the street. He smiled.

            He pressed the buzzer to apartment 815, nerves firing as he started to second guess his purpose here. Maybe he should just turn back. Liam had looked at him weirdly when he’d told them he wanted to drop off Emma’s plane tickets and VIP passes in person rather than using a courier like a normal person - or email like a normal twenty-first century person.

            He’d made up some excuse about not trusting couriers and wanting Emma to feel welcome and like part of the group and Belle had eventually handed over the address. Of course he had ulterior motives. One of them was sitting in his pocket, like a lead weight, where it had been since he’d picked it up nearly a week ago. The door clicked unlocked and he walked in.

When he’d first gone back out into the alley outside the bar he’d made to return it right away. But then she’d been gone when he came back and then well, he liked it. It was very her. He’d tried to work up the nerve to bring it back to her over the last few days but kept chickening out. Worried that she’d… he didn’t know. Be angry? At what? He was being ridiculous. He willed himself up the stairs. _Come on, mate. You’re just dropping off a ticket - like some crazy person who is going to see her tomorrow morning but is going to show up at her door like a lunatic._ Killian suddenly felt like the elevator was very small. He was determined to head straight back down and just wait but then the doors slid open and he was face to face with the curved gold letters _815_. Music was coming through the walls, as was the sound of laughing and singing out of breath and out of tune.

Killian smiled again. He’d done that twice now and all he’d done was walk up to her front door. He didn’t know what he’d do when he saw her for real. Probably lose his cool, beaming and blushing like a fourteen year old boy. God, he wanted to see her again. He listened to the beat thumping through the front door and let it sync up with his racing heart, calming it slightly. He thought again about turning around. See her or turn around. And see her tomorrow. But he could see her right now. See her smile and laugh and probably mock him. He knocked.

He heard someone shout ‘door!’ and someone else shout ‘too bad! I’m winning!’ Footsteps clicked closer and closer and he grinned from ear to ear. The door swung open a moment later and Killian’s smile faltered for a moment when it wasn’t Emma but her friend, Ruby, who stood before him. He fixed it quickly into something more resembling this usual, self-assured grin than the idiotic look he’d had on his face a moment before.

“Hi,” she said over the music blasting behind her. Ruby looked surprised - something he imagined she rarely was if their short interactions were anything to go by.

“Hello,” Killian answered, unsure now if he was interrupting something. He should have mailed the damn tickets. There was a long pause - longer than was comfortable and she was surely wondering what this crazy person was doing on her friend’s doorstep - and Killian cleared his throat. “Um, is Emma here?” he asked lamely.

Ruby nodded, still looking a little out of sorts. “Yeah, come in. I’ll go get her. But you might have to wait. It’s her turn and she’s competitive as hell.”

Killian’s lips turned up a bit at a fond memory from over five years ago. “I know.” he said more to himself and Ruby gave him another strange look that quickly turned into something more salacious. He thought he heard her mumble “I knew it” before turning back and heading down the hall shouting for Emma.

Killian followed her inside awkwardly, shutting the door behind him. He stood in the entrance, unsure what to do with himself. The place didn’t have many personal touches, nothing distinctly personal or unique in the decoration - it looked like a model home more than anything lived in. But there was one picture, in a frame next to a pair of keys on a table by the front door. Emma, Ruby and Mary Margaret laughing and looking no older than their late teens. Emma wore thick rimmed glasses and oversized plaid, her nails were painted black. He smiled again.

Peering around the short wall into the kitchen, Killian was hoping to spy another small glimpse of who Emma Swan was. The kitchen was tiny but quaint, decorated with bits of yellow and with a sink full of dirty dishes. He couldn’t stop smiling as the mystery that was Emma Swan continued to unveil itself piece by piece in front of him: former grunge kid and currently a bit of a slob.

He set the large manilla envelope he was carrying down on the table, nearly considering rolling up his sleeves and doing the dishes - his old navy habits sometimes hard to break. That was when he noticed the notebook. It lay open next to the envelope, as though it had been tossed aside without thought. He wouldn’t have paid much attention to it were it not for the familiar spacing of the lines. Like poetry but more repetitive. Songs. Songs scribbled and crossed out and changed and added to in multiple coloured pens. A song that had been gone over many times. Tweaked and re-written until the writer was satisfied.

He knew he shouldn’t look. He didn’t even look intentionally. Not at the first line anyway. Read it by accident before he knew what the notebook was. But he’d read it. And accident or not he couldn’t stop. That one line or two… it was just so much. It was so much - so _good_ \- it almost made him angry. Like for a moment he felt like giving up music forever because nothing he could ever write would be that true - nothing he could ever write would be that uniquely personal and painfully private but ring so universally true and honest. But at the same time it made him want to sit and write himself - the way a beautiful song can make you want to be better than yourself so that you might one day be close to the level of whoever wrote it. The next line was just as good.

Killian kept reading. He could hear the music in his head. Could see the way the chords and the strings would come together to create something nearly as beautiful as her lyrics. Turning the page, letting the words fall over him and flow in him and stir up things he didn’t want to feel but in that moment he _needed_ to feel, only to be left wanting, like the floor had been ripped out from under him.

It was unfinished. He felt cheated and wronged and inspired all at once and he was determined then and there that one day he would hear this song - hear the end of it - the way it was meant to be.

He’d wanted to see a piece of Emma Swan and he’d gotten that and more. The one song, two verses and no chorus, had given him an unearned and unsolicited peek into the depths of her soul and it had been more than he’d bargained for. There was so much pain, so much loss and hopelessness.

In that moment, in the middle of Emma Swan’s kitchen, Killian made two vows: he would hear her play this song one day, and he would find a way to make sure Emma never felt that way again.

“You know you shouldn’t look at things that aren’t yours.”

Killian jumped, dropping the page he’d still been holding and looking guiltily up at Ruby who leaned against the fridge with her arms crossed, judging him.

He felt his face flush, scrambling for an explanation. But there was none. He’d invaded Emma’s privacy as much as if he’d read her diary and he’d been caught. He was a musician. He knew you didn’t go reading someone’s songs unless they showed you. That being shown was often an act of trust when it wasn’t one of braggery.

“I -” he started but before he could find anything to say, Emma walked in, flush-faced and a little sweaty from whatever game they had been playing. Killian shot Ruby a panicked look, begging her not to say anything. He thanked whatever gods were out there when she slipped silently out of the room.

“What do you want?” Emma asked. Always the charmer.

Killian tried to smile, to act cool and collected but he fumbled as he picked the envelope up again. “I’m delivering your tickets and your passes,” he explained, clearing his throat.

Emma raised a brow at him. “Ever heard of email?”

Killian did smile then. Finally feeling safe from Ruby’s possible reveal and the daze of Emma’s song slowly fading, he took a moment to appreciate the woman standing in front of him. She was gorgeous. She was _always_ bloody gorgeous. Her cheeks were red and her hair was a bit messy. Her eyes were glassy and she may have been having a little trouble standing upright but still she faced him with sharp tongue and cutting wit - challenging him, always challenging him. He loved a challenge.

“Ah, but then we wouldn’t have had this beautiful moment.”

Emma raised a brow at him, not buying it. Killian scratched the spot behind his ear that always seemed to itch when he felt out of his element. “I confess, I had another reason for stopping by in person,” he admitted. He reached into his front, right pocket, pulling out a silver chain on which hung a pendant engraved with a swan.

Emma touched her neck, eyes wide in surprise. “Where did you find it?”

“Outside the bar where we were… talking,” he answered, both of them suddenly awkward at the reminder of what exactly they’d had to discuss. “I thought you’d want it back. I imagine it might have some...” he ran his thumb over the etching - dark and discoloured from age, the other side polished from constant wear, “sentimental value?” He left it as a question but didn’t expect an answer. The way she looked at it and then at him gave him one anyway.

Emma reached out her hand. “Thanks.”

Killian dropped the necklace into her awaiting palm, his hand covering hers and perhaps lingering a little too long, fingers brushing her wrist. “You’re quite welcome, Swan.”

Her eyes met his and there was a moment that passed, somewhere between awkward and comfortable where neither seemed to want to move apart but also didn’t know what to say or do to prevent it. They were saved by Mary Margaret stumbling in, Ruby on her heels.

“Killian!” she called happily and the moment was broken as she threw her arms around his neck. He laughed at the woman’s enthusiasm and greeted her in kind. “It’s so nice to see you!” she said, a slightly dazed but nonetheless happy grin on her face. “Do you want to join us in a round of Just Dance?” she offered sincerely.

Killian smiled politely but shook his head, glancing at Emma. “Thank you but I believe I’ve already intruded enough.”

“Yeah, you crashed girl’s night,” Ruby pointed out.

“Ah, then I’ll bid you ladies goodnight and let you get back to your festivities.” He made to leave but Mary Margaret stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait! We’re celebrating the tour and you’re part of the tour!” She explained with a charmingly tipsy logic. “You should at least join us for a toast!” As she spoke she poured four shots of tequila from a bottle she’d procured seemingly out of thin air. She handed one to him.

Killian glanced at Emma who merely shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’ and he nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, taking the proffered drink. “To what are we toasting?”

“To being rockstars!” Ruby cheered.

“To new friends and new adventures!” Mary Margaret added.

Emma smiled. “To good music.” Her eyes met his and whether he was imagining it or not, he felt as though she were speaking to him. As though they both knew what the other had inside of them.

“To the songs that make us who we are,” he finished, speaking low as though offering her a secret, a bit of himself in return for the bit of her he’d stolen. Emma started a bit, eyes flicking to the notebook that still sat on the table between them.

“Here, here!” Mary Margaret cheered, raising her glass. The four clashed their glasses together and as the women threw back what was certainly not their first drinks of the night, Killian set his down discretely out of the way, behind the bottle where it wouldn’t be noticed until much later.

With that, Killian said his goodbyes and left the friends to their party, smiling once more because tomorrow... tomorrow he would see Emma Swan again.  

 

***

            “This is the final boarding call for flight 108 to Los Angeles. All passengers please make your way to gate twelve.”

            Emma buckled her seatbelt and looked at the itinerary for the thousandth time since Belle had given it to her this morning when they met her at the airport. They’d sent a car - a really fancy car to pick her and her friends up and bring them to their flight. As someone who was used to taking ubers and the bus, it felt like a little much.

            She folded the itinerary, put it in her bag and then pulled it out again. Three months. They were going to be on the road for three months. They would travel by plane to LA and then they would be taking a tour bus across the country. When she’d asked about it this morning, Killian had jumped at the opportunity to mock his brother.

            _“Because Liam is cheap that’s why. He doesn’t want to spend any money on flights and since he has the manager in his pocket…”_

            Liam punched him then, hard in the shoulder. Killian didn’t flinch and she wondered how many scraps they had gotten into as kids.

            _“Fame is a fickle thing,_ ” Liam insisted. _“We shouldn’t throw our money away at the first sign of success._ ”

            A look had passed between the boys and Belle at that point. It was a look that Emma recognized. The look of someone who’d grown up without money and who knew how valuable it truly was. People always said that money couldn’t buy happiness but those people had clearly never had to resort to sleep for dinner. It was a lot easier to be happy when your belly was full. Emma looked at Killian then and wondered not for the first time if he could read how she felt as easily as she could him.

            Ruby broke the tension then, rambling excitedly about how at least Liam had sprung for first class seats.

Emma looked at the creased paper in her hand again. Twenty two cities. Twenty-two shows in one summer. Three months driving across twenty-two cities with her best friends, a group of strangers that she found herself growing more and more attached to the more she learned about them, and Killian Jones - a man who scared the absolute shit out of her.

“Hey, calm down,” Ruby told her gently, laying a hand over her own. “It’s gonna be okay.” God she loved Ruby. As much as her friend liked to portray herself as a careless loose cannon, there was nobody who loved and protected her more, who knew how she was feeling so intuitively - except maybe Mary Margaret.

“It’s just so…”

“Real?” Ruby finished when she couldn’t.

“Yeah. It’s so real.”

“Hell yeah it’s real!” Ruby said enthusiastically. “It’s also about time. I know you, Emma. You deserve this. All of it.” She squeezed her hand and Emma believed her just a little. “Besides, Snow and I will be right beside you the whole time.”

“Stop calling me that!” came Mary Margaret’s voice from across the aisle.

Ruby smiled. “Just relax and try to enjoy the first class trip to LA! I’ve got you.”

The way she said it was so sincere that Emma felt calm enough to fold up the itinerary again and put it back in her purse. She’d have her friends next to her the whole time.

“Excuse me, miss, you need to return to your assigned seat for takeoff,” the flight attendant leaned over to inform her somewhat regretfully. Right. So maybe not the whole time.

“Oh come on, is that really necessary?” Ruby asked. The woman looked a little nervous and Emma felt bad for her. She probably had to deal with her fair share of jerks in this line of work - Emma had worked enough jobs to know what that was like.

“It’s fine, Ruby.” Emma assured her. “I’ll just see you when we’re in the air.”

“Thank you,” the flight attendant said as Emma gathered her purse and jacket and got out of the oversized airplane seat. Ruby looked disgruntled but didn’t fight her.

Emma dug into her bag, pulling out her ticket to check her seat. She was only a few rows forward. Row 2 seat B - the window seat. Not that that mattered so much in first class. The seats were so far apart she could probably handle the whole flight without ever accidentally touching her neighbour’s armrest.

She followed the numbers up until she found row 2, turning to the correct side only to come face to face with -

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” she groaned.

“Nice to see you too, Swan.” Killian smiled up at her from his seat in 2A.

“Did you do this on purpose?” Emma demanded, her suspicions and her guard suddenly up. Killian looked a little offended but also like he’d been expecting it.

“No, Swan, I didn’t. Belle booked the seats. I had nothing to do with it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment but couldn’t find any trace of a lie in his words. She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. Move your legs,” she told him, kicking his outstretched boots. “You’re blocking my seat.” Killian scoffed when she kicked him but moved his feet out of the way.

There was an awkward shuffle as Emma made her way across him but she thanked Liam silently for springing for first class because she could only imagine how awkward the shuffle would have been if she’d had only the narrow leg room of economy class. At the worst she’d just given Killian a pretty nice view of her ass as she scootched past him.

She sat back in her seat and chanced a glance at Killian who looked far too pleased with himself. He didn’t say anything but as the captain turned on the fasten your seatbelts sign and the stewardesses gave the safety demonstration, she could see him shuffling awkwardly, fingers tightening into a fist and releasing every now and then. The plane started to roll forward and Killian tightened his seatbelt. When the plane rumbled with the takeoff, his face went white and so did his knuckles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Emma asked. She reached towards him, not sure what she was planning to do but wanting to help somehow.

“I’m fine,” he answered quickly.

“Yeah right,” she challenged and he actually smirked a bit.

“I, uh -” he cleared his throat, eyes shutting as the plane rose and Emma’s heart fell into her stomach a little. “Flying makes me a little nervous,” he confessed.

“I’d say more than a little,” she answered. “Don’t they have pills for that?” she asked.

“Don’t like them,” he stuttered. Emma wasn’t sure what to do, the poor guy looked like he was going to pass out from anxiety. But at least he was talking. Maybe she could just keep him talking.

“What about a drink?” she asked. “The seatbelt sign will be off soon and I can buy us a round.”

“Thank you. But no. I don’t drink,” he said matter of factly. Emma remembered the full shot of tequila she’d found in the kitchen this morning and a new, very surprising side to Killian Jones made itself known. She went for teasing, hoping it would relax him a bit.

“You’re not one of those ‘my body is a temple’ guys are you?”

He grinned but it looked pained. “No. Definitely not.”

“Mormon then?” she asked and he actually laughed at that. For the first time since they’d started moving he looked over at her and she felt a small victory as his knuckles went a little more pink.

“No. Um, alcoholic, actually.”

Emma felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world. _Good job, Emma. Mock the recovering alcoholic for not drinking. Real class act._

“I’m sorry -”

“It’s fine, really,” he insisted when she tried to apologize. She couldn’t find a lie in his words this time either and she felt a bit better. “I’ve been sober six years. It’s no big secret.”

Emma nodded. She wasn’t big on personal confessions but talking really did seem to be helping him calm down so she decided to find out more about the man she’d be stuck in a bus with for the next three months.

“When did you start playing guitar?” she asked when his breathing got a little unsteady again.

He looked back at her as if he was shocked that she’d asked him something about himself. That was fair. She hadn’t really been the chatty type around him.

“Uh, must have been over ten years ago. Liam taught me actually. When we were in the Navy together we’d have these long boring nights stuck on a ship with nothing to do in our downtime. Sometimes we’d play for the other guys.”

“You were in the Navy?” Emma asked, genuinely surprised. He didn’t fit the idea of a navy man she had in her mind. But then she looked over his perfectly pressed t-shirt and the way his boots were laced up all the way, jeans cuffed just above and it made sense. Even in his panic he was sitting perfectly straight.

“Seven years,” he nodded.

“So you can sail on a ship and fight in wars but you’re scared of the big bad plane?” she teased.

Killian shook his head, chuckling, and she finally saw his shoulders relax, his face losing some of its pallor. “I said I was in the Navy, not the Air Force,” he quipped.

Emma smiled, happy to see the Killian she knew coming back. He met her eyes and held them and for just a second, she felt like she was back in that bar five years ago.

There was a second of turbulence and Killian’s hand snapped out, grabbing hers where it was resting on her lap. She looked at it, unsure what to do. She wasn’t even sure he was aware he was holding it. He was just scared and needed a hand. She could do that. That was small enough.

She tried really hard to think of it that way - as an act of kindness, something she could ignore… instead of focusing on the way his hand dwarfed her own, pressing it into her thigh, fingers brushing her skin through her jeans each time he tightened his grip. She wished she’d worn shorts in that moment. She remembered the way his hands felt. Dry and soft with rough, calloused fingers from playing music. She wanted to feel them again. Emma swallowed, shifting her legs, the cabin suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm.

The turbulence stopped and Killian pulled his hand back, seemingly having finally noticed where it was. She missed it for just a second before she made herself smarten up. Now that they were up in the air, he seemed a little less terrified, like he was just coasting on a steady level of anxiety, on high alert. It made Emma wonder what he’d been like as a soldier.

“Sorry,” he said. “You can go back to Ruby if you want,” he told her when the seatbelt sign turned off. She really should. She knew she should. But he still looked so vulnerable and so young in his fear that she couldn’t bring herself to make him ride the rest of the flight by himself.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure Mary Margaret has taken my spot by now anyway.”

He looked at her in surprise, a little flicker of a smile curling up the corner of his lips but he forced it down, nodding instead.

“You’re all quite close, aren’t you?” he asked and Emma nodded in answer. “I was surprised to find out that you and Mary Margaret were sisters,” he continued. “You’re so different.” Emma laughed. They got that a lot. But usually it was skeevy guys going on about how one was the ‘good sister’ and one was the ‘bad sister’.

“We’re foster sisters,” the words came out of her mouth so quickly and without her consent that she wasn’t sure who was more shocked that she’d actually said them, her or Killian.

“Ah,” he said. And that was all he said. No prying, no pity, no judgement. It was new to Emma, to have her life just taken as fact and not something to be looked down on felt sorry for. It felt nice. It felt really nice and before she knew it she was speaking again.

“We were in the same group home when we were fourteen and kind of… bonded I guess. We didn’t have any family so we made one.” Killian continued to look at her, listening. “When we were sixteen we ran away and were caught breaking into Ruby’s grandma’s diner looking for food.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Why was she telling him all this? It was never easy for her to open up. But he was so receptive, so understanding without saying a word that she couldn't stop herself. She’d only ever felt this comfortable expressing herself a few times in her life. And that’s when she realized: Talking to Killian Jones was like writing a song. Easy, freeing and way too easy to become addicted to.

“We thought she would have us arrested but she didn’t. She fed us and gave us a room to sleep in at her inn. We stayed there for a long time and then she… she adopted us. Both of us. Just like that.”

She looked at him, waiting to see his reaction to her lifetime movie. He just met her eyes, relaxed now, calm and said. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She’s fierce,” Emma said, smiling a little to herself.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Killian said and suddenly it all felt too personal, too… intimate and she needed to change the subject.

“Do you like cards? We should play a round!” she blurted out awkwardly, reaching into her bag for a deck.

Killian hid his surprise well, looking her over once more, her hand awkwardly holding up a pack of playing cards before asking: “Do you know how to play Rummy?”

They played Rummy for two hours, then Blackjack, then Poker, and Emma discovered one more thing about Killian Jones: he cheated at cards. He cheated well; it took her awhile to catch on to what he was doing exactly. He didn’t win every round which threw her off the scent but when he showed off, shuffling the deck with one hand, she was quick enough to catch his other hand, pocketing aces. It made it all the more fun watching his face as she took him for all he was worth (in airline peanuts anyway).

They played until a voice came over the loudspeaker, telling them that they would soon be beginning their descent and calling for last drink orders. Emma was shocked to realise that the flight was nearly over. She’d somehow managed to play cards with Killian for six hours without noticing the time go by at all. She was almost disappointed she couldn’t beat him one last time, her hand one card away from a royal flush - aces be damned.

“Okay I’m just gonna run to the bathroom before the seatbelt sign comes on. You gonna be okay?” she added as an afterthought, putting her cards down and standing. Killian nodded and Emma made her way across to the aisle.

“And, Emma,” she stopped when she felt his hand on her wrist, the heat and calluses much more evident without denim in the way. He looked at her, sincere and a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Emma only nodded, pulling her arm back slowly and turning to make a run for it down the aisle only to collide with a flight attendant carrying what she imagined were two whiskey sours. At least that’s what they smelled like, spilled down the front of her top.

“Seriously?” she whined, pulling at her soiled shirt. The man apologized profusely, offering her napkins. Emma merely sighed over the fact that she’d have to spend the next hour or so soaked and smelling like a brewery when Belle came to the rescue.

“Don’t worry! This is why I always travel with an extra shirt!” she declared proudly, digging through her definitely-not-regulation-size carry-on. “Sorry it’s nothing fancy but it’ll do the trick!” she said somewhat apologetically.

“Anything’s better than wearing a drink,” Emma thanked her, taking the shirt and heading to the bathroom.

Inside, she peeled her ruined shirt off and chucked it in the garbage. There was no saving it now anyway. She did her best drying her stomach and bra with paper towel before deciding this was as good as it was gonna get and reaching for Belle’s shirt. She almost laughed out loud when she realized what it was. A band shirt. _The boys’ band shirt_. ABANDON SHIP was printed in bold white letters on black cotton over a - surprisingly intricate and well drawn - white pirate ship in a bottle. A white kraken made up the rest of the shirt, tentacles wrapping around the bottle and pulling it down. Damn. It was a really cool shirt. She probably would have bought it at a concert. Would she have a cool shirt like this? One with her name on it? She wanted one. Maybe with a picture of a swan, or an ugly duckling.

Emma shook her head, casting out all thoughts of having her own t-shirt and pulling the borrowed one on. She looked in the mirror and groaned. Belle, tiny thing she was, had clearly brought the tiniest shirt in the world. It was snug but not too bad; Emma could deal with snug. It was the very 1999 strip of bare midriff that the shirt left exposed between the hem and the top of her jeans that she couldn’t deal with. She looked like a groupie. And she just _knew_ Killian would make a joke about it.

She cast a longing look at her ruined tee in the garbage and resigned herself to her fate. Stepping out of the bathroom, she made her way back to her seat to a wolf whistle from Ruby and an apology from Belle. As she reached her spot, she glared at Killian who looked her over once, eyes widening slightly before he looked decidedly at his feet. She scootched past him to her seat and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Not. A. Word.” she warned him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, still looking at his feet. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They sat in silence for a long time as the plane prepared for it’s decent, the seatbelt sign turning back on. Somehow, Killian actively _not_ staring was worse than if he’d been full-out ogling her. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, the muscle in his jaw twitching every now and then, his fist clenching and unclenching. It made her squirm in her seat. The tension between them thicker than it had been that night five years ago on the dance floor. How the hell was he doing this to her?

The plane lurched suddenly and Killian’s hand grabbed the armrest in a deathgrip. She could see the panic growing again but he still wouldn’t look at her. How was she supposed to help him if he wouldn’t look at her? Her worry grew as the plane continued to shake through turbulence and Killian’s breathing became ragged.

Without thinking, she reached out, pulling his hand between her own and holding tight. He looked at her finally, fear and confusion and relief in his eyes before he closed them, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He didn’t let go of her hand though, holding it in a white-knuckle grip until the plane finally landed. Emma let him. Her thumb running over the top of his hand every now and then in an attempt to soothe his fears. He squeezed her hand each time she did and she took that as a positive sign.

When they finally rolled to a slow stop, Killian pulled his hand away and used it to scratch behind his ear. She appreciated that he didn’t acknowledge the last twenty minutes. She didn’t want to deal with it any more than he apparently did.

The whole way from the plane to the shuttle, through security and baggage claim, Emma felt that something was off. The boys kept exchanging looks, like they were communicating something she couldn’t follow. Every now and then one would lock eyes with the other and brows would furrow. When they sat in the shuttle it only got worse. The tension seemed to have taken over the small bus that was carrying them to the hotel. Feet kept inching closer and closer to the door, shoulders straightened. Suddenly, Killian’s hand was at her back, breath hot in her ear.

“When I tell you to run, _run_.” Emma’s heart started pounding in her chest, adrenaline racing through her until her fingers trembled. She’d been in some shady situations before. She cast her eyes around. She couldn’t spot any threat but Killian clearly knew something she didn’t. And so did the others in the vehicle from what she could see. She braced herself - fight or flight set to flight.

            The shuttle finally came to a stop and the door was pulled open. Killian shouted ‘RUN’ and Emma bolted. Fast as she could she was out of the van and into the parking lot, not looking back but keeping her senses open to any danger.

            “No! Swan! This way!” She stopped in her tracks. His voice wasn’t concerned but frustrated, defeated. She looked back to find him waving her over as the boys booked it towards the front doors of the hotel. Ruby and Mary Margaret raced after them, screeching and laughing as they went before coming to a stumbling stop at the entrance. The boys cheered and high-fives were exchanged between the groups. That’s when it clicked. There was no danger. It was some kind of a race. One she and Killian had apparently lost.

            “What the hell?” she asked, making her way to the others.

She was met by Liam’s smug smile. “Rules are rules. Last ones to the front doors have to bring up all the luggage.”

Killian groaned and shot her a look, clearly annoyed that she had lost them their dumb game.

            “What are you whining about?” she asked him. “This is your fault.”

            “My fault?” he asked, offended.

            “Maybe don’t tell a woman - a _bail-bonds woman_ \- to run without any context if you’re trying to win some stupid race.”

            “Hey!” David interjected. “Nobody likes a sore loser.”

Emma shot him a murderous look and he just flashed her that all-American smile of his.

            “See you up there,” Liam called with a particularly gloating nod to his brother before throwing an arm around Belle’s shoulder and heading inside with the others.

            “Well,” Killian sighed, handing the driver a tip. “We may as well get moving.”

            Emma groaned, looking at all the eight suitcases and instruments that were piled up beside the shuttle. “What do you think the chances are we’ll make it in one trip?”

            He smiled. “Slim, but I love a challenge.”

            Together, they dragged the bags and instruments with them to the elevator. Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t sneak a peek or two at the way his arms flexed when he picked up David’s bass drum, a fine sheen of sweat starting to coat his collarbones and the back of his neck from the effort. She bit her lip against the pulling in her belly, remembering how strong he was - strong enough to hold someone up against a dressing room door... That wasn’t helping.

            Somehow, they managed to cram everything into the fairly large elevator. They jammed everything in until they weren’t sure they would fit along with it but Killian wasn’t kidding when he said he loved a challenge and somehow they ended up squeezed in between Graham’s suitcase and the wall beside the elevator panel.

Emma shifted, trying to find any room in the tight space. Her back was pressed against the wall and the movement caused her hips to drag across Killian’s own. She heard his breath catch and her eyes snapped up to his. He looked down at her, pupils blown wide. She could feel his breathing on her face, hot and a little ragged. His eyes drifted down, stopping on the strip of exposed skin above her jeans. His hand came up, fingers brushing against her lower belly. She let out a small whine at the heat that shot through her at the contact and then everything was a blur.

She didn’t know who moved first but suddenly she was being pressed against the wall, Killian’s hand on her hip, squeezing the skin there, while his other buried itself in her hair. His mouth was hot on hers, open and wanting and she responded in kind, her hands going to his back and pulling him as close as she could. He let out a groan, something rough and desperate from deep in his throat and Emma pulled him even closer, pulling his hips in an attempt to roll them against her own.

Somehow, Killian had the presence of mind to press the emergency stop button before his other hand joined his first in her hair, cupping her face and tilting her head up so he could deepen the kiss. He found her tongue with his, teasing and exploring. _God. She’d forgotten how good he was at this_. The man kissed like it was what he’d been put on this goddamn earth to do. She protested a little when his mouth left hers but she forgot her disappointment when his lips started to trail down her jaw to her neck and her legs turned to jelly beneath her.

Killian bent, hooking his arms bellow her ass and hoisting her up, hips pinning her against the wall and Emma writhed, pulling at his hair - then her knee knocked what she could only imagine was a cymbal and the crashing sound of it clattering to the floor snapped them both out of whatever fog they had found themselves in. Killian froze, face still bent above her collarbone, breathing ragged and warm. Coming back to herself, Emma slowly loosened her fingers from his hair, the ends of it tickling her chin before he set her back down on the ground.

Emma swallowed, trying to clear the lump in her throat and settle the ache between her thighs. Killian scratched behind his ear again, making an uncomfortable sound before turning to turn off the emergency stop. They rode the rest of the way up in an awkward silence, Killian doing his best to turn sideways so that their fronts were no longer pressed against each other. The bell dinged as they reached their floor.

As soon as the doors were open, Killian began heaving everything he possibly could onto his back and into his arms like a goddamn pack mule, pulling what he couldn’t out into the hall and separating it by band. Emma stood, stuck against the wall of the elevator, watching him.

“Right,” he coughed, looking insane holding four bags and a guitar. “I guess I’ll see you at the show.” And with that he made his way down the hall.

Emma stood until the doors closed again. _Fuck_. The show. The show they had tonight. The show in four hours where she would have to see all of them and see Killian again. See Killian and act like she hadn’t just tried to dry hump him in a hotel elevator. Emma had made many bad decisions in her life but this was definitely one of her top.

Seven hours. That’s how long she’d lasted next to him before she broke their stupid professionalism pact and tried to get in his pants. Seven hours of sitting on a plane and holding fucking hands and cramming into an elevator before all her reason and common sense went right out the window because of his stupid arms and his stupid jaw and his stupid, fucking, amazing, stupid kiss.

Emma let her head fall back against the wall. She never should have packed her damn suitcase.

 


End file.
